To The Bone
by x-butterflykisses-x
Summary: To Robb Stark, duty was paramount and he was honour bound to do as his Lords command him. But when faced with two choices, will he put away the childish notions of following his heart or break the oaths he had once held so dear. Following TV canon before the main events, AU after. RobbOC.
1. Of Meetings

**"I leave it to be settled by whomsoever it may concern, whether the tendency of this work be altogether to recommend parental tyranny or reward filial disobedience"**

**- 'Northanger Abbey', Jane Austen**

* * *

_The fire crackled beside the old woman, continuing with her needlework she sighed softly, her fingers were tired, the skin tough and calloused. Her hair had long turned white, her children long grown and her life long lost._

_But there had been a time when she had known different, felt more..._

_There was a time when the North had a king._

The rain was falling, the wind biting and the landscape barren. Stark greys and muted greens; there was no vibrancy here, only desolation; and the cold.

Pulling her cloak further round her frame Hermia looked back at the caravan. Her aunt sat in the carriage that should have housed the both of them, but she couldn't sit there. The air was too close, the atmosphere too stifling – instead – she chose the cold.

She knew she was overreacting; her Aunt was an old woman to be humoured. Five years ago the woman could have easily turned her away, left her to fend for herself. But with the death of Hermia's parents and her brother claiming the title, the young girl had been at a loss. Her mother's family was from the flatlands but both sisters had left their familial home in favour of their husbands. Her mother to the South and her Aunt to the North, so it was to the North Hermia took when she was left alone.

Of course her brother Nathaniel had said she could remain at the family seat, but even at the tender age of 12 Hermia didn't want to be sentenced to a life of walking haunted halls.

"Hermia!"

Turning on her horse Hermia sighed, "Yes Aunt?"

"Get back in here for goodness sake, your brother and uncle might have ridden on ahead, but I want you in a fit state when you are presented to the Starks."

"Presented, Aunt?" Hermia questioned archly. "Am I to be treated as chattel?"

The older woman rolled her eyes, "You know what I mean girl!"

"Actually I don't," Hermia replied tartly before narrowing her eyes with steely determination. Digging her heels into her steed, the horse lurched forward.

"Hermia!" her Aunt shrieked once more. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Send someone after if you must, but I'm riding on ahead."

Hermia couldn't help but let loose an exhilarated laugh. Truth be told, she didn't much like riding, but there was something about today. Maybe it was her Aunt continually mentioning the young eligible Robb Stark, or that Winterfell was the greatest keep in the North. But she didn't want to think about that, she didn't want to think of duty nor filial obedience, she wanted to feel the cold. The biting cold, the cold that crept through your clothes, nipped at your skin, worked its way to the very bone.

Soon enough her horse was lumbering through woodland, the loamy ground giving off a damp, comforting scent. Quite suddenly, the sound of several voices brought Hermia round; leaning over her horse she gently stroked its neck as she pulled on the reigns.

"Declare yourself!" A voice called harshly from her left.

Glancing over Hermia quickly appraised the situation. Three men, all armed and clearly not in the habit of waylaying damsels.

"What's it to you?" Hermia replied sharply, ordinarily she would have obliged with an answer. But something in the boy's (for he really was a boy) mannerisms irked her.

"You will answer me, you are on Stark land and unless you declare yourself you will be treated as a trespasser."

"She's just a girl Theon, what harm could she possibly do?" Another of the party finally spoke up, he had soft burr to his voice as he tugged on the sleeve of his companion.

"Just a girl? She's obviously stolen that horse, look at her, dressed like a common farm hand."

Hermia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but truth be told she had been hoping no one would see her dressed in leather leggings and boots.

"Have you tried riding a horse in a dress?" Hermia shot back, instantly regretting her fast tongue and the trouble it no doubt would get her into.

"I will have you flogged for your impudence girl!"

"Theon, Jon's right – she's just a girl. We don't have time for this anyway; we have to get back to the castle. We have guests for my Father's name day, remember?"

"You're not just going to leave her here are you Robb?" Theon shot back, his eyes widening, aghast.

"It's not like she disavowed the Night's Watch, I don't think my father would approve of killing an innocent girl." Robb replied hotly, as he turned to leave.

Hermia shook her head in quiet disbelief, before urging her horse onwards. Shooting past the three boys she emerged onto the road, her Aunt's carriage just disappearing through the wall that guarded Winterfell.

"Still think she's harmless?" Theon virtually crowed as the three Northerners went on the pursuit.

"Yes," Rob answered roughly. "You just bloody scared her off, threatening to have her flogged."

"She's a nobody," Theon returned confidently as the three companions rode through the gates into the muddy courtyard.

Quickly dismounting the group made their way to the small crowd of people. Several strangers had appeared in Winterfell and as head of the House; Eddard Stark had come out to great them.

The friendships formed in peace were what determined the course of war. Ned knew this all to well, his friendship with Robert Baratheon had him march across the country, all too willing to leave a newly found wife and possibly his life behind him.

"Robb!" Ned Stark called out affectionately as he gestured for his son to approach.

Both Theon and Jon hung back, each one unsure of where he stood. One a bastard and the other a stranger in the place he called home.

"My Lords Ellwood and Aylwin." Ned gestured to the two men standing next to him.

All three men nodded stiffly, the intricate steps that one had to follow in society made sure people kept and knew their place.

"What is it that you would have done to my sister?" Aylwin questioned, his eyebrow arching as he addressed Robb, all pleasantries forgotten.

"I..." Robb muttered, he was suddenly finding it difficult to speak. "I am unfamiliar with your sister, my Lord."

"Unfamiliar?" Aylwin replied knowingly. "She left me the impression that you were acquainted, all a misunderstanding I'm sure."

"She was the one..." Robb stuttered before shooting Theon a dirty look.

"She is normally quite well dressed and quite well behaved." Aylwin cracked a smile, before laughing, "She assures me it was entirely her fault."

"Yes," Robb agreed before quickly correcting himself. "No! We should have seen her for a woman of noble birth."

"A woman of noble birth who was riding alone," Lord Ellwood interrupted. "Is not a common sight, you'd be forgiven for thinking she had stolen herself a horse. My niece has chosen a fine time to dig her heels in."

"Dig her heels in my Lord?" Robb questioned before he could stop himself.

Lord Ellwood fixed him a look, his brow raised quizzically.

"Forgive me my Lord, I should not have asked."

Robb resisted the urge to kick at the ground, as his father and Lord Ellwood continued through the bailey.

"My sister has always put duty first," Nathaniel suddenly spoke up as he fell into step with Robb. "But I think she's suddenly realised that she doesn't always have to like it."

"What else is there but duty and honour?" Robb rejoined.

"Sometimes what you want, what you should do and what is required of you, take three very different paths. Women are forever finding this out and most bear it. Mia, she's questioning it for now." Nathaniel smiled wanly before clapping his hands together in an attempt to regain his spirits. "Come Stark, show me your house!"

* * *

Hermia fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress, her hair was swept back from her face in one elegant braid. Walking nervously beside her Aunt they stopped before the high table, dropping into the lowest curtsey she could muster Hermia hoped the Greyjoy boy was looking. Farm hand her arse.

"I want to apologise for earlier," a voice whispered in her ear as a hand took her by the elbow.

"I believe you thought me a harmless girl my Lord," Hermia countered, quickly flicking her head to the right. A pair of blue eyes full of heart felt sincerity hit her like a blow to the gut.

"I didn't wish to offend you my Lady," Robb tried again; hoping his words would not be met by laughter.

"You did not," Hermia reassured, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"But I did, you are clearly not a peasant girl." Robb replied stoutly, he was trying to apologise, play the gallant knight and she wasn't letting him.

"Because you see me wear a fine dress and drop a curtsey? Is there not more to being of high birth?" Hermia questioned fiercely before her shoulders sagged, as she veritably deflated before Robb's eyes. "But then as my position is merely an accident of birth there is nothing to separate me from anyone else except my clothes."

"Honour?" Robb replied. "We are taught to live by a code, to follow our oaths and do what is right."

"Honour is not exclusive to those of high station, my Lord." Hermia posited softly, her green eyes meeting his blue. "The Mad King was of high birth was he not, yet he was without honour? And Jon Snow, many would say he is of the lowest station, yet he has honour in him, no?"

"But if we were to believe different," Robb started slowly. "If we were to accept that every man, woman and child are the same, how do we go on living the way we do? Keeping those of low birth under foot?"

"We wouldn't," Hermia shot back. "But we do, and so serfs swear loyalty to their landowners. Knights in turn, pledge their allegiance to their lords. And the lords have their banner men and so swear fealty to the King."

"You seem to have put a lot of thought into this," Robb said off hand.

"No more than anyone else my Lord," Hermia gave a small smile; her mask was back in place. For a few precarious hours that day she had let it slip.

"Are we not to talk of it anymore?" Robb prodded, unsure of why the girl's mood had suddenly shifted.

"Would you not rather talk about the weather? Or Winterfell or your dire wolves?"

"The weather?" the young lord spluttered, a large smile cracking across his features.

Hermia bit her lip; it was a warm smile, a kind smile. It wouldn't do her any good if she fell love with Robb Stark, which would make her life her far too easy.

"Well if you want to keep talking about the state of Westeros' society, you'll have to at some point question why I, of all people, have been invited to your Father's name day."

"Our fathers fought together with King Robert," Robb replied easily.

"Then my brother surely would have been enough to represent our House?" Hermia challenged, her eyebrow raised.

"Didn't want to leave you out?" Robb hedged, his eyes searching Hermia's face.

"Nathaniel never had that problem as a child," Hermia replied. Taking a sip of wine she breathed deeply before the words fell from her lips in a rush of self-loathing. "I do sit on a large dowry."

"You think?" His voice cracked, he hadn't thought much about marriage, only that it was a veiled future full of real responsibility and children.

"One of many advantageous matches House Stark could make," Hermia stated coldly as she rose from her seat. "Excuse me my Lord, I need some air."

Hermia suddenly found herself fighting off tears, the harsh reality that she would never marry for love or even because her future husband _liked_ any of her qualities hurt. Instead her marriage bed would be decided in a closed room by old men, the amount of land and money she could bring would determine how comfortable it would be.

"My lady," Robb's apologetic voice rang out to her.

Turning to face him Hermia bowed slightly, she wasn't about to break down in front of him – that would never do.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Robb whispered.

"You need not worry my Lord, I have never been under any illusions regarding my fate. I will do my duty, I am sure I will love my children enough."

"You don't think you'd love me?" Robb asked before he could stop himself.

Hermia let off small giggle, her unshed tears only just distorting the throaty sound. "I am sure I would love you very well my Lord, but knowing my luck I shall marry an old, fat man who will not talk to me."

"You might get lucky, you might get me." Robb teased, humour returning to his voice, the ghost of his beautiful smile flitting across his features.

"For some reason my Lord, I think you'll be one to follow your heart." Hermia reached out and placed her hand across his chest. "For all your talk of duty, I think you find honour in being true to yourself, not what others would have of you."

With her hand still placed across his gradually rising and falling chest, Hermia felt a pull somewhere in the vicinity of her navel. Perhaps she would allow herself one more hurrah before adopting her meek smile.

Robb's blue eyes bore into hers, the would be Lord Winterfell stood proud in front of her. Tall and handsome he had the makings of a good man. Propelling herself forward she placed a kiss square on his lips, his mouth yielded under hers and for a second she let herself dream. But all to quickly she found herself pulling backwards.

"My Lord." Hermia dipped once more into a curtsey before sweeping back into the hall, a secret smile playing across her face.

_The old woman set aside her sewing. The recklessness of her youth was firmly confined to memory. Robb Stark preserved forever in her thoughts._

* * *

**__A/N: **First foray into the fandom, for now this a one shot, but feel free to let me know what you think.


	2. Alliances

**"As he was valiant, I honor him. But, as he was ambitious, I slew him."**

**- Brutus, Julius Caesar**

* * *

_There fire was down to embers now and the cold was beginning to seep into the room. Pulling her heavy furs around her shoulders the woman resumed her needlework, thinking grimly that winter had come._

The gates had opened wide for them, but the reception could not have been any more different from the last time Hermia was at Winterfell. The Stark House divided, Lord Eddard to the south, a prisoner, his fate uncertain. The two daughters, wolf cubs in a lion's den, were clearly no better off. And the two lordlings, one grievously injured and the other unaware of life's cruelties.

Then of course there was Robb Stark, thrust into a position he thought he had a few years left to prepare for. Lord of Winterfell in his father's absence and now, leader of a great Northern army. There were whisperings, the King in the North had returned.

Hermia walked nervously across the stone flag, her goal the small antechamber just off Winterfell's Great Hall. Her brother had bid her go north to parley with those of House Stark. With the Young Wolf due to ride south for his father and raise his bannermen. Hermia knew, that despite her family lands lying closer to King's Landing than those of Winterfell, her brother would swear allegiance to Robb. Their father's had history, and so was the way with Westeros, their children would continue that legacy.

Hermia had made the long journey with only two other riders; they had rode hard and fast along a dangerous road. Clad in a long, heavy travelling cloak and riding leathers, with her family's Eagle Owl sigil pinned to her chest, Hermia straightened her back. It would not do to look meek minded here, not when she had to give her brother's terms.

Rising from their seats Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy and Maester Luwin observed the young woman before them. Robb thought her pretty, Theon thought her plain and the maester saw something of the North in her, despite her kin hailing from warmer climbs. Having dropped into a curtsey Hermia rose to her feet, she fixed Robb with a stare so hard, so cold, that for a moment he was convinced she should have been born a man.

"My Lord," Hermia started. "My brother, Lord Nathaniel Aylwin, third of his name, sends me in his stead. He would have come himself, but he is marshalling his men."

"Marshalling his men?" Robb replied, his forehead creased, his beautiful smile long gone. Buried for the time being as those around him mongered war.

"If the North should call, my house and brother will answer." Hermia's voice broke.

"You would have chosen differently my Lady?" Robb questioned gently. His blue eyes softening along with his mouth, something of the handsome boy she had first seen emerged.

"I am a woman and would never be given such a choice my Lord," Hermia replied, bowing her head.

"But if you were," Robb prodded, as he moved from behind the worn table to stand before her. His hand gently pulled at her chin so he could look at her properly; drink in her clear skin and burgeoning beauty.

"Where is Jon Snow?" Hermia abruptly inquired as curiosity took hold, well aware of how odd her line of question would sound.

Robb frowned deeply, "My half-brother has taken the black."

"He is to be punished for the sins of his father?" Hermia shot back before she could stop herself, the injustice causing bile to rise in her throat.

Robb's hand suddenly dropped to his side, "I suppose a stranger might see it that way. But joining the Night's Watch is an honour, and I will not have my lord father's name sullied in such a way."

"Forgive me my Lord," Hermia spoke hurriedly as she knelt down before him. Pausing deliberately she answered Stark's previous question, "I would have chosen the same as my brother, for it would have been my life to give and my honour to uphold. But as the roles are reversed, I pray to the old gods and the new, that Nathaniel is spared from an untimely death. But if he must be taken from me I pray for a quick one."

His hands surprisingly gentle Robb lifted Hermia back to her feet, blue eyes met green and apologies were exchanged.

"You are more than welcome to rest at Winterfell for as long as you need my Lady." Robb offered, well aware that he still held her, and not for the first time wished he could know her better.

"I thank you for your hospitality my Lord, but I feel tomorrow I should begin my journey home, my brother has bid me look after our seat in his absence."

Robb nodded his head, his right hand still wrapped around her upper arm, his other gently clasping her slender digits. Hermia smiled hesitantly, she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact, to see the anger and strife that no doubt danced there, only to be tempered by fear. They were all so young and all so afraid. And Robb most of all, but he could never allow them to see it, not now when everything teetered on a knife's edge.

Robb Stark was a player in a game he had no desire to partake in, a game that would see the kingdom rise or fall.

"My Lord," Hermia whispered as she leant in closer, she knew it was improper but she didn't want the others to hear. Her heart was beating a tattoo against her rib cage but she was overcome with the desire to see him smile once more. Before summer was done she knew he would face far more strife, and strangely she wanted to see him unspoiled and happy. "As much as girls would die to feel your embrace, do you think I will have use of my arms again?"

A soft giggle escaped her throat as she saw the colour rise in his cheeks. Coughing Robb squeezed her hands tightly, "I suppose you are not one of those girls?"

"If I were, don't you think I would have died of pleasure the night I kissed you?" Hermia whispered against this ear, thankful that Maester Luwin was ushering Greyjoy from the room. The words that fell from her lips were loaded with an unspoken desire, she knew that a marriage between them would never be entertained, not when his hand could buy his force a lot more.

She wanted him to do dishonourable things to her. Hermia almost gasped at the indecency of her thoughts.

"What would it take my Lady?" Robb queried, emboldened by her closeness, the touch of her soft skin against his cheek and the smell of the delicate perfumes that clung to her hair.

"You would have to wed and bed me to find out my Lord." Hermia's warm breath tickled his neck just before she snatched her body backwards. Suddenly aware she should not have been feeling his heart beating against her chest, nor should she have been liking it.

Robb's breath caught in his throat, there were girls at Wintefell, the pretty maids he had stolen kisses from and sometimes more. But he never had the desire to know them, to talk for hours with them. But she was different, clearly she was clever and of noble heart. But it was more than that, her very manner was arresting, her sincerity so alluring.

"My Lady," Robb coughed once more. "May I escort you to your rooms?"

"I think," Hermia started as she took his arm, signalling her acquiescence. "That you may call me Mia."

"Mia," Robb tested the name, it rolled off his tongue with ease.

Suddenly stopping Hermia pressed her hand against his chest, her green eyes earnest. "I will pray to the gods for your safe return as well as my brothers, as I would like to count you as friend."

"It would do me honour my Lady... Mia." Robb replied warmly.

_The old woman gasped, a small lone tear drifting down her papery skin. The gods, old and new, were cruel._

* * *

**A/N: **I know I could take this story further if I decided to disregard some elements of the shows plot (namely hot nurse chick) and include a time jump. But as for now, I'll leave it at this. Feel free to let me know what you think :)


	3. Resistance

**_The first, of gold, who this inscription bears:_**

**"_Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire."_**

**_The second, silver, which this promise carries:_**

**"_Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves."_**

**_This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt:_**

**"_Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath."_**

**_How shall I know if I do choose the right?_**

**- Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare**

* * *

_Sighing softly the old woman rose from her seat, her bed had been warmed by hot rocks from the fire and with the thought of warm sheets she was ready to finally rest._

_Dreams of steel and blood greeted her, and her closed eyes wept. _

The camp was loud and dirty, the soft groans of dying men met Hermia's ears as she walked across the downtrodden grass flanked by two guards. The war, for now, had been won, or rather, was at a bloody end. The past days and months had seen Joffrey forcefully removed from the Iron Throne, and a young girl with white hair and dragons at her feet, take his place.

Hermia's hand balled into a fist, at the sight of Daenerys Targaryen and her three pet dragons, the world had shifted. Westeros had trembled and the dragon fire had burned. Tywin Lannister's head was mounted on a stake; his favoured offspring Cersei and Jaime joined him. The Tyrell's disgraced and Margaery killed, the other houses had been forced to kneel before the Khaleesi from across the Narrow Sea.

The Starks had been lucky, left to protect the North but for how long would their peace last, Hermia didn't know. The Wall still stood but one day it would be breached and the Others would walk amongst them again.

For now, however, thoughts of politics, dragons and unearthly creatures did not interest her. She had come to find her brother. A brother injured serving Lord Stark, in a war that now seemed utterly pointless.

* * *

Finally the tent came into view, flinging the canvas flap open Hermia rushed into the make shift bedchamber. All but ignoring the other figures present she stumbled into a clumsy crouch at her brother's bedside. Not daring to lift the sheet and look at his wounds Hermia placed Nathaniel's hand in her own, before lifting it to her mouth and brushing her lips softly against his knuckles.

"Nathaniel..." she breathed deeply. After the torturous months with next to no news, she finally looked upon her older brother. "You promised you wouldn't get hurt."

Hermia's voice cracked, tears streaming freely down her face, for over a year now she had managed her family's lands. The past year had caused her to mature and harden, but faced with the prone form of her closest of kin she was reduced to a sobbing girl.

A leather-clad hand placed on her shoulder brought her back round, shifting in her position she looked upwards. There, dirty and scarred, stood Robb Stark. He had been spared; his only injury an arrow to the arm but it had been a superficial one.

"Mia," her name fell from his lips as if no time and passed at all. And despite herself, despite the situation she found herself in, Hermia smiled.

"It is good to see you alive my Lord," Hermia rushed out, her words warm as she slowly rose to her feet.

Robb gave her a small smile, the woman before him radiated a quiet strength but it looked like she was close to collapsing. Her dark hair was scrapped roughly from her face, her fair skin red from rough winds and her eyes, of such a green, were tainted.

There meeting was cut short as the remaining figures in the tent made themselves known, one of them, a fairly attractive girl of about 17.

"Lady Aylwin, I am sorry for your brother, but not all of us wish to be involved in such sad business. So if you would hurry up..."

Hermia blinked slowly, before finding her words. "I may do as I wish my Lady..."

"Frey."

"Frey," Hermia repeated. "But my time is to do with as I please."

"You are in Lord Stark's tent, it is only by his grace that you are allowed to stay. My father would wish that my betrothed and I spend time together, you should allow Lord Stark a chance to enjoy such happy occasion."

Hermia's jaw clenched, with her brother fighting a war she had been granted a certain independence and along with it, had earned the respect of her people. The young Lady Frey's words were clearly ill thought and the product of ignorance, but it was all Hermia could do to resist the urge to pull out her concealed dirk.

The girl before her had been sheltered from the war, told that she was to marry a great Lord and bear his children, one of the few to profit from the endless bloodshed. And for that, Hermia hated her.

"My Lady," Hermia snapped, her voice tight. "My brother is injured and Lord Stark has been kind enough to let Nathaniel have use of his tent. It is you who is intruding."

"Intruding?" Roslin repeated, her normally pretty mouth a thin line. "You are suggesting that I, the future Lady Stark, am intruding?"

Hermia felt Nathaniel squeeze halfheartedly on her hand, "Sister..." He whispered, hoping she would pay heed.

Gently unfurling her fingers from her brother's grip Hermia stepped towards Roslin, "Lady Frey, you may be promised to Lord Stark, but lest we forget, your hand was given for use of a bridge."

The words freely poured fourth, caustic in their nature. Hermia for a moment didn't care, her brother was dying and she had seen too much. "Do not for one second think that this is a love match, the sooner you realise that, the better off you'll be girl. But if it would please you my Lady, I will take my leave."

Turning quickly Hermia pressed her cold lips against Nathaniel's flaming forehead before facing the assembled people and dropping into a curtsey. Sweeping out from the room Hermia took several paces in the fresh air, before slumping onto the trunk of a nearby tree. Gripping the frozen bark beneath her fingers she felt the hot tears drip down her cheeks, sniffing violently she attempted to stem the flow but the flood gates had opened.

"Mia,"

Once again she felt a hand on her shoulder, Robb's voice whispering in her ear.

"My Lord," Hermia quickly span round before dropping to her knees. Grasping Robb's free hand she place a kiss upon his knuckles. "Please forgive my behaviour, I did not mean to disrespect you, nor Lady Roslin."

"I found nothing dishonourable in your actions my Lady." With those words the Young Wolf pulled Hermia back to her feet. "That was the first time I hade met her you know," Robb offered mildly.

"I suppose, it can't possibly get any more awkward than that, can it?" Hermia squeaked.

"Well, could you imagine if she as ugly?" Robb joked.

"No!" Hermia exclaimed. "At least she's pretty!" Her voice cracked before hysterical laughter bubbled forth, only to intermingle with her sobs and give the impression she was a braying donkey.

Sobering, Robb gripped her shoulders tightly, "Mia, look at me."

The girl shook her head, her eyes screwed shut as the laughter died on her lips.

"Please," his voice was soft and insisten, but above all, kind.

"My Lord," Hermia spoke finally, her voice thick with emotion as her eyes fluttered open.

"Please go back in and see Nathaniel. I have had Lady Frey put in the adjoining tent."

Mia nodded meekly biting back a new found bitterness she whispered, "You should return to your betrothed, she has come a long way and would see her Lord."

Robb nodded stiffly, his jaw clenching as he tried to resolve himself. Turning to leave Hermia found herself unable to move, Robb's hand was grasped firmly round her wrist, his blue eyes pleading as he looked towards her face. "I don't want to marry her."

Hermia swallowed heavily, "You are an honourable man my Lord and you will do your duty. She may prove to be a good wife yet."

Dropping his grip Robb nodded once more, his eyes hardening.

"Thank you my Lady for your words."

Hermia smiled stiffly, before turning back to the tent and her brother. Once more the urge to cry bubbled dangerously in her chest, but it wasn't for Nathaniel, it was for Robb. A man she barely knew, a man who she would like to know better, a man that was promised to someone else.

* * *

Ducking into the tent Hermia once more flew to Nathaniel's side; lifting a weak arm her thumbed away his sister's tears.

"Don't cry, you'll get my bandages wet and they'll just have to change them again." Nathaniel attempted a smile, but it died on his lips when he saw the look his sister was giving him.

"I prayed for two lives Nathaniel, I was greedy and the gods only gave me one." Hermia muttered, her fingers running through her brother's hair.

"Who's the damned bastard?" Lord Aylwin questioned, doing his best to sound angry.

Hermia remained tight-lipped, her eyes once more welling with tears. Shaking her head she roughly wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

"Tell me sister, for I would like to meet the man and congratulate him on winning my sister's heart." Nathaniel smiled kindly, taking Hermia's fingers in his own.

"He hasn't won my heart..." Hermia replied almost petulantly.

"He hasn't? Because I could have sworn the way you looked at Robb Stark's bride said otherwise."

"Nathaniel, I don't love him!" Hermia hissed, glancing over her shoulder checking that no one was in earshot. "I've spoken to him all but twice, but he is brave and has done so much already that he deserves to marry a girl that he loves." Hermia paused, regaining her breath. "I know we're not supposed to question these things, I know that marriages more often than not prove to be advantageous, mother and father grew to love each other after all. But..."

"You are worried that you will share the same fate as the Young Wolf?" Nathaniel questioned gently.

Nodding her Hermia let loose a shaky breath, "Yes. You might not be here to protect me."

"I will let you choose." Nathaniel suddenly rushed out. "You will take the lands, and you will choose who you would marry."

"Nathaniel," Hermia shuddered. "You cant..."

"I can," Nathaniel repeated firmly. "Uncle, may he rest, has gone, our Aunt can do nothing. I am still Lord of Ayrshire and I will have you named my heir."

"Its..."

"Accept it quickly dear sister, before I change my mind and make all the young hopeful men of the kingdom past a test before they be deemed worthy. The Wolf doesn't strike me as one for puzzles." Nathaniel laughed, flinching he pushed himself up the bed.

"What test would you set?" Hermia questioned, her curiously piqued.

"Three boxes, one gold, one silver, and the last lead." Nathaniel answered quickly. "Whoever picks the right one, he gets you."

Hermia frowned, "My fate to be decided by three boxes?"

"There'll be some sort of inscription on them too," Nathaniel replied airily as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, I see..." Hermia giggled. "Much better then."

"I think so," Nathaniel laughed, once more flinching as the action caused an unwelcome pulling on his wound.

Noticing her brother's discomfort Hermia grew serious once more, "You'll just have to stay with me then, so you can judge for yourself."

Nathaneil smiled wanly, "I would only judge one worthy."

"And who might that be? Ser Tomas? You've always favoured him." Hermia's eyes once more danced with good humour.

"Tomas?" Nathaniel returned, "Pah! I spit on Ser Tomas. No, I would have you marry your own Northerner."

"Nathaniel," Hermia frowned, her voice stern. "He's promised..."

"There are ways out of these things Hermia, but Stark has proved his salt twenty times over."

"You think too much of me Nathaniel," Mia smiled softly.

"On the contrary, I don't think enough." Nathaniel managed the last few words before groaning softly.

"I will ask for them to bring you more milk of the poppy," Hermia uttered as she rose to her feet in urgency.

"No!" Nathaniel called out, stopping her. "There are other's that need it more. Just give me some wine and let me rest a bit."

"Nath..." Hermia began to protest.

"Dammit sister, please do as I say."

"Very well my Lord," Hermia gave in as she bobbed a mocking curtsey.

* * *

Lifting open the tents flap Hermia was surprised to see that the sun had fallen low in the sky. Her brother had drifted off into a fitful sleep and she was taking the opportunity to gain a brief respite from the sick room. Breathing in the crisp, winter's air she relished the feel of ice scratching at her lungs.

She wanted to slow down, take a moment to try and understand the tumultuous wave of emotions coursing through her veins, but her body wouldn't let her. Not when Nathaniel was so close to the dark veil that separated the two worlds.

"Would you have me?" A warm voice cut through her reverie and Hermia jumped.

"You probably shouldn't be heard talking like this my Lord, not when Roslin is only a door away." Hermia bit her lip; she was skating on dangerous ground.

"That wasn't an answer to my question," Robb jested. Inching closer to Hermia, his shoulder brushed against hers. It was entirely too familiar and far too welcome.

Hermia wanted to scream. It wasn't that she loved him, far from it. It was because she knew she so easily could.

"I hope that I'll see you smile more, now my Lord."

Robb frowned, "I don't think that was an answer to my question either. Why don't you women ever say what you mean?"

Hermia found herself laughing, "We say exactly what we mean, men just have trouble listening." Turning to face Stark she coughed, trying to marshal her thoughts and hide her discomfort. "Any woman would have you."

"I'm not asking about any woman," Robb's reply was somewhat heated. Grasping her hand he captured her gaze, his blue eyes radiating an unknown emotion, "I'm asking about you."

"I would gladly have you, but our paths aren't the same anymore. Lard Roslyn is the one you should be asking."

"I know," Robb's bitter words tumbled freely from his mouth as he dropped his hold on her arm. "For a damn bridge."

"That bridge was the difference between getting to King's Landing and saving your father... I know it wasn't the case but don't forget that, don't forget how important it was to you." Hermia insisted, this time she was the one to reach for him.

"Why shouldn't I forget?"

"Because you have to hold on to that thought if you're going to do your duty." Hermia replied firmly.

"Weren't you the one who told me that I would do as my heart commanded?" Robb countered, a half smile pulling at his lips.

"That was a long time ago, we've both grown up since."

_The night was cold and the winds blew, but the old woman was safe in her keep. Her walled heart still beating behind her chest._

* * *

**A/N: **So, I'm only reading the first book just now, and have a vague idea of where things are headed, not sure how they will play out in the show, but I can safely say I am taking some liberties re plot development in this fic. Still, hope you guys will forgive me and let me know what you think ;)


	4. Farewell to Arms

"**And then her heart changed, or at least she understood it; and the winter passed, and the sun shone upon her."**** – The Return of the King, JRR Tolkien**

* * *

_Even with many a year passed, the grief she had once felt was permanently etched upon her heart. There were times, in the cold, deep night that she remembered and would wake in the morning alone, a name playing on her lips. _

Eyes blank and unseeing Mia sat slumped in the corner of the tent. Her world had stopped and with it everything had ceased to matter. The last of her kin, all save one, was being dressed for death. Silent Sisters worked quietly and tirelessly. Nathaniel Aylwin was dressed in his finest doublet, the family crest emblazoned on the front in dark blue stitching.

In death Nathaniel was as handsome as ever, yet his eyes were closed to the misery he had left behind.

The light that had danced around him was extinguished; and with it the flame that fuelled Hermia was spluttering. Both he and his sister were husks of their former selves; both cold to the touch; both silent in their departure.

Mia's eyes blinked slowly, the only indication that something beat within her still, a plate of untouched food sat next to her but she had no interest in it. The hunger in her belly was reduced to a dull throb as her heart constricted painfully in her chest. All she felt now was pain as her very body was overcome with it. Each breath was forced, her brain just managing to remember how. She didn't know what kept her going, what small part of her was hell bent on her survival. But she willed for it to be snuffed out. In a land full of uncertainties her touchstone and been ripped cruelly from her breast. It wasn't fast like she had wished for. It was long and arduous; the final breaths haggard and laboured as eventually Hell's teeth claimed another.

"My Lord, she has not moved. She hasn't eaten, a drop of water barely passing her lips. She is determined to follow her brother."

The words were half heard and only vaguely comprehended. Mia's eyes fluttered upwards, barely registering that she was the subject of conversation between two men.

"Ser Tomas, surely her Aunt should be sent for? I don't think I can..."

"My Lord," Tomas replied in a low, urgent whisper. "Her Aunt is old, the journey would not be a quick one. Her cousin, the new Lord Ellwood, is too bus keeping their joint estates afloat. It would be too late..."

Robb Stark frowned, "She must be removed from the room."

Ser Tomas agreed, "But how?"

Robb sighed nervously before walking towards Mia and hoisting the girl into his arms, but she made no complaint. For a moment he stood studying her, she was surprisingly heavy, not a great weight to bear, nothing compared to standing around in full armour. But he had half expected to feel a waif like, gamine creature between his arms. Not the firm, supple flesh and wide hips – good for childbirth, he could almost hear his mother's voice whisper in his ear.

Shaking the errant thoughts, Robb walked slowly towards the tents exit. As he did so something stirred within Hermia, her eyes screwing shut before they snapped back open, full of fire.

"No!" Her voice was loud, ripped from her lungs after a long self-imposed silence. "I can't leave him, let me stay!" Struggling against Robb's arms, Hermia's feet fell to the floor; she soon began pushing against the Northerner's immovable shoulder.

"You can't make me go," Hermia hissed, her voice laced with such vitriol, Robb for a second stepped back. Taking her chance Hermia dove towards her brother but found two strong arms wrapped firmly round her middle.

"I can't leave him!" Hermia veritably screamed. "I can't leave..."

Her voice broke, wild, almost primordial sobs wracked through her body. Hot, messy tears sprang forth and her cheeks ran slick with salt water.

"I can't leave him," Hermia whispered as Robb pulled her against his chest. "He promised he would stay with me... Protect me..."

"I can protect you," Robb found himself replying.

"Don't..." Hermia's voice shook with horror. "Please don't, protect her, protect your wife. Don't promise me something that you cant possibly do."

"We were friends long before Roslin was anything to me, I can't promise you a lot of things, but I can promise that I will always look after you." Robb swore stoutly, his blue eyes searching out her green.

"Don't – please don't Robb." It was the first time his name had passed her lips, and she only had few moments to dwell on the warmth she felt penetrating her heart. "Don't give me chance to hope, don't give me a chance to love you."

Wrenching herself from his grasp Hermia stormed from the tent, once in the open air she caught sight of Ser Tomas nervously pacing across the muddy grass.

"Ser Tomas," Hermia snapped. "I need to take my brother home as soon as possible, will you make the arrangements?"

"Of course my lady," Tomas bowed, willing to take her sharp words if it meant she was once more with the living.

Breathing deeply, a long shuddering stream of air was exhaled and with it Hermia felt a weight slowly begin to drift from her shoulders. Her brother's death was still a raw, pulsating gash in her chest but life within her had begun to stir.

"Why not?" Robb's voice suddenly cut through the bubble of air that surrounded her. It cut her to the very bone.

"Because it would be unfair, it would make what you and I have to do, that much more difficult." Hermia replied suddenly. "I will not be the reason for you to break every vow you hold."

"It is my choice to make," Robb replied earnestly, taking several steps towards her, but stopping just short.

"But it isn't." Mia's word where laced with sadness. Gently resting her hand across his chest her green eyes plunged the depths of his blue. "You are Lord of Winterfell, your duty is to your people. To the men that farm your land and look after your keep, would you have them forced into another war? Lord Frey would not take it lightly if you were to jilt her. It isn't just Lannisters that must pay their debts."

"I do not love her," Robb uttered, his words simple and clear.

"And you don't love me," Hermia whispered. "You may grow to love her, as you could have grown to love me."

"You would make it far easier though," Robb commented wryly, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"And I am sure the same could be said of you," Hermia nodded graciously. "I must return to my tent, I am hardly my self. A wash would do me well."

"May I join you later, we can break our fast together?" Robb questioned impulsively.

A small frown briefly flitted across Hermia's forehead before she gave her acquiescence, "Of course my Lord, it would do me great honour."

Giving half a curtsey, Hermia turned on her heel before making her way across the camps frozen ground, without her noticing, Ser Tomas appeared at her side.

"Lord Ellwood looks for a wife," he offered mildly.

"I will not marry my cousin, Ser Tomas." Hermia responded, her eyes narrowed.

"Not for you my Lady," Tomas replied as he lifted the flap to allow her entrance to her own quarters. "Lord Frey is greedy, with too many sons. Give him cause he would gladly see Roslin married to someone else."

"What do you mean?" Hermia questioned sharply as she removed her mud stained cloak.

"You could renounce your claim to Ayrshire, give your cousin control of the property, Lord Ellwood would then have a large amount of land running from just bellow the Neck to the flatlands." Ser Tomas sighed, before scratching the back of his neck. "Not as much land as House Stark, but his income would be vastly increased, Lord Frey might not care that his daughter wouldn't be married to the Warden of the North."

"And what of me, Ser Tomas?" Hermia commented archly. "Forced to leave my home and for what?"

"Daenerys Targaryen is in need of lady's in waiting, as you clearly could not marry Lord Stark straight away." Tomas offered, his eyes shrewd. "You could guide the young Queen, she would be a powerful ally and would perhaps give weight to your offer to Lord Frey."

"What game would you have me play Tomas?" Hermia whispered, as a sudden melancholy fell upon her.

"I would have you play for your happiness my Lady," Tomas answered earnestly. "I am sworn to protect your family, and you are the last of it. Let me help you."

"You do not have designs to marry me yourself?" Hermia shot back, remembering her brother's fondness for the knight. This was not a case of inflamed ego, but a reality she could not ignore, a young knight would do well to marry a woman of fortune.

Tomas smiled ruefully, "By your leave I would wed a girl named Jenkins."

"Her father is a merchant," Hermia muttered offhand. "A good family none the less. You have my blessing."

"As I knew I would," Tomas bowed. "I will leave you, but think on what I said."

Shutting the tent door behind him Tomas left his Lady alone. Wondering whether she would fight for her happiness, or if she would meekly do as duty commanded.

* * *

Once alone, Hermia went to her small looking glass, looking at her muddied reflection she saw her pale face and red-rimmed eyes. Her hair was wild and unkempt; there was something of the wild about her. Wriggling free of her undergarments she washed herself in the water that was constantly kept warm over a small brazier.

Brushing out her long locks, she roughly plaited her hair once more before pinning it along the back of her head. Her work was slow, but finally she patted her head down presuming she looked well enough. Wrenching on riding leathers, several woollen shirts and a worn jerkin, she found her fur-lined cloak.

Reclining onto an uncomfortable wooden chair, just made bearable by an overstuff cushion, Hermia sighed. Ser Tomas had always put her family first, he was loyal to the last, but attempting to put his plan to action worried her. She had grown to love Ayrshire and the independence she had gained as head of the house, if she were to forsake her claims she would be wholly dependent on her husband.

Perhaps, if she really loved someone it wouldn't matter, she would give it up in a heartbeat, but this was not the case. She would be gambling it all away on a 'what if?' What if Robb Stark wasn't the man for her, what if she didn't fall in love.

Hermia shook her head roughly, her brother had thought highly of the Young Wolf, and she trusted Nathaniel's judgment. Not only that, but the brief moments she had spent in Lord Stark's company had showed her a glimpse of his nature, his kindness and strength. By all accounts he was his father's son, a just and upright man.

Yet in spite of this, she knew that there were other men in the kingdom, other suitors that were just as kind, just as good.

"My Lady,"

His voice filled the small tent and her stomach clenched painfully. Yes, there _were_ others, but they weren't him.

Rising to her feet Hermia smiled, his Tully hair sat messily one his head, his chin lined with stubble and he looked every inch the conquering Lord.

"Are you sure its wise to be seen with me my Lord? People will talk." Hermia gestured for him to sit down, just as her late brother's steward brought in a plate of food.

"Their lives are dull, let them talk." Robb smiled, his blue eyes alight with good humour.

Mia's breath caught in her throat, her eyes fixated on his full lips. Coughing she reminded herself that her brother was not long dead. Brushing an imaginary bit of lint from off her trousers she sat down.

"You seem to be in good spirits, my Lord." Mia commented as she poured them both a goblet of wine.

"I have been granted a year," Robb explained.

"A year?"

"Before Lord Frey left, taking his daughter and troops with him, he said that I should have time to get my House in order." Robb elaborated further as he took a sip of the rich summer wine.

"The Greyjoys, they are..." Hermia muttered.

"Gone from Winterfell," Robb's mouth hardened as his jaw clenched. "But there is much work to be done, before I bring home my new wife."

"My own estate is in need of my attention," Hermia mused. "But, Ser Tomas gave me some curious advice today."

"And what advice was that?" Robb rejoined.

"That I should let my cousin Lord Ellwood take over Aryshire, and I should to go to Court." Hermia nursed her cup, wondering whether Robb would figure out where the plan ended.

"Why would he suggest such a thing?"

"Because my cousin wishes to find himself a wife and this way he looks more desirable." Hermia explained, her eyes meeting Robb's, hoping that he would understand.

"Surely, with just his own lands he is desirable enough?" the Northerner inquired. His forehead creased as he took a chunk out of the hard bread that had been laid out for them.

"Ser Tomas thinks that Lord Ellwood would be a better match for Roslin Frey," Hermia rushed out, her cheeks flushing.

"And Ser Tomas wants this to happen because?" Robb pressed gently, the bread discarded as his hand reached out for hers.

"Because he would see my brother's wishes carried out," came Hermia's cryptic response.

"And they are?" Robb urged.

"That I would be married to you," Mia's cheeks coloured a deep red as she took an almighty swig of wine.

Lurching forward Robb Stark forgot everything about propriety, duty and honour.

The chalice fell to the floor.

All he saw was _her; _a beautiful woman that he wanted to discover, learn every inch of. Landing two powerful hands gently against her cheeks Robb pulled Hermia upwards and towards him. His warm breath scorched her skin and everything burned. Robb's blue eyes bored into Mia's, making his intentions known. Pressing his lips against hers, he claimed her for his own.

_There had once been a time of such exquisite pain that the woman barely remembered how she lived through it. But a pair of blue eyes had seen her out the other side, a hand gently clasping hers._

* * *

_****_**A/N: **Thanks for the lovely reviews folks! Hope this chapter hits the spot, and please let me know what you think :)


	5. Tryst

**"Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship naked personalities." – CS Lewis**

* * *

_The woman remembered the hot sun beating down on her skin, the bright colours of the city dazzling her as she made her way through the busy markets. It was a world away from her home, and at times it really seemed like the streets were paved with gold._

_Fools gold. _

Hermia's cheeks burned as she stood watching Robb Stark kneel before Queen Daenerys. It had been two long months since she had last seen him. Two months since she had pushed him from her tent, despite every pore begging for him to stay, to feel his lips brush against her skin, the graze of his beard against her cheek.

Despite the spark that burned hotly within her Hermia had not relented; her maidenhead was not to be given up on the floor of a battlefield tent. So she had sent him away, her fingers reluctantly freeing their grip of his red curls as she forced herself not to give in.

Her remaining days had been spent in isolation; it was only upon reaching Aryshire that she had deigned it appropriate to strike up an exchange with the Lord. Sending the Young Wolf a raven, asking for forgiveness and hoping that he would say nothing to the Frey's until she had spoken to her cousin, she had awaited eagerly for a response.

In time one came and with the help of her aunt, Mia had managed to convince Lord Ellwood that Roslin Frey would be a good match, it hadn't hurt that she was pretty Hermia thought ruefully. Her conversation with Robb was brought to mind, and with it, a smile to her lips.

As the Lord of Winterfell rose to his feet, having pledged his sword and all the men he commanded, to the Queen; he turned to stand with the heads of the other great houses, it was then his eye caught Hermia's. The world seemed to fall away as his heart constricted in his chest. His ears were deaf to the chatter and the noise; his eyes blind to everyone save her. Thoughts of politics and what lurked beyond the wall ceased to matter. Like their brief encounter in the tent, all he saw was Mia, resplendent in dark blue robes, he faltered in his step. Gripping the pommel of his long sword he forced himself to walk forwards, his eyes still locked with Hermia's.

Clutching her long train of skirts tightly between her left fist Hermia willed herself to remain composed, but the flaming sensation darting across her cheeks said otherwise. Unbeknown to her she was not going unobserved. Quickly snatching away her gaze, inexplicably afraid that she was intruding on a private moment, Lady Catelyn Stark felt her heart sink heavily in her chest. A promise she had made years ago when she still had everything to play for was about to rear its ugly head. Across the grand hall and with quiet determination a loyal servant quickly exited, hoping his mistress would thank him for the action he was about to take.

And the one true Queen of Westeros merely smiled.

* * *

The musicians were playing frantically, the wine poured freely and the rich meats were so vast in their number the wooden tables veritably creaked with the load. Hermia observed from the shadows, Robb was still sitting at one of the many tables, laughing good-naturedly at a joke a knight had no doubt elaborately weaved.

Biting her lip Hermia thumbed the small pebble she had grasped in her hand. She knew there were easier, more formal ways of asking for Lord Stark's attention but she was feeling reckless and impatient. Trusting that her aim would be true she flung the small rock towards Robb, hoping that it wouldn't smack him in the face, but instead drop to his cup. As it happened, the gods were smiling on her and the small rock sailed gracefully through the air before landing with a slight plop.

Robb's eyes narrowed, his fellow dining companions had failed to notice the foreign object floating in his goblet and so carried on eating as he slowly rose from his seat. Glancing upwards he saw no sign to suggest that the small particle was a stray bit of mortar.

His trained eyes scanning the room her noticed a flurry of movement in the one poorly light corridor leading off from the main hall. His curiosity piqued, the Lord of Winterfell picked his way across the room, various members of the assembly hailing for him to the join them. A curt nod to each had them returning to their meals, only slightly put out that the Young Wolf would not join their party and regale them with stories.

"Hello?" Robb's voice reverberated off the walls in the much cooler corridor.

"Shh!" Hermia's insistent tones came sounding out from the dark. No sooner had the noise of protestation met his ears then he felt her hands grabbing him by the collar, forcing him against the wall. "I don't want people to see."

"Then you should have sent word to one of my men to meet you in your chambers," Robb rejoined. Hermia could just about see the smile dancing upon his lips. She wondered what would happen if she kissed him.

"And going to an unmarried woman's chambers in the dead of night would invite less talk and speculation my Lord?"

"Probably not," Robb conceded. "But people always gossip, we could have least given them something to talk about."

The meaning behind his words were not lost on Mia and she felt a familiar tightening in her stomach. She didn't know what it was; she didn't think it was love, not quite. But it was something just as deadly, threatening to consume her. And it would start if she kissed him.

Grabbing Robb's hand she dragged him further into the dark and further down the passage. Trying to ignore the rough calluses she felt beneath the pads of her fingers and the instant spark of something indescribable that travelled from her hand, only to end somewhere between her thighs.

"Where are you taking me Mia?" Robb questioned, somewhat amused. The large amount of wine he had consumed was already coursing through his body.

"My chambers," Mia replied tersely.

A deep guttural laugh escaped Robb's lips before Hermia turned around and clamped her hand over his mouth.

"Shh!"

Her green eyes widened in the dark and not for the first time Robb wondered what would happen if he kissed her. Eyeing him suspiciously Hermia slowly removed her hand from his mouth, her body pressed against his, something shift within her.

"Robb, please be quiet. The Lannisters may be gone, but the walls still talk and you're still promised to Roslin." Hermia's pleading voice was enough to cut through the fog that had descended in Robb's mind.

Sobering, Robb fixed her with a hard look, "Then why are you taking me to your chambers?"

Hermia sighed, the colour rising in her cheeks. "I wanted to talk to you."

"About?"

"Nothing," Hermia answered, her voice a scant whisper.

Robb's brow furrowed before her placed his forefinger and thumb under Mia's chin, the sight of her slightly parted lips was nearly all too much for him to bear.

"You just wanted to talk to me?" Robb clarified, his blue eyes softening as he observed the rush of blood to her cheeks.

"Yes," Hermia breathed. "I haven't seen you, I wanted to speak of Winterfell and your brothers... It was silly of me."

Casting her eyes down Hermia tried to step away, but Robb's hand quickly moved to rest against the back of her neck, his other placed firmly on her hip.

"It is more than anything anyone here wishes to speak of, all they want to know is how many men I've killed..." Robb's words were bitter, a hollow feeling setting in chest. Quite impulsively he pressed his forehead against Hermia's, the closeness pulling him back towards her, and away from the strange resentment he seemed to harbour.

Enveloped by the smell of worn leather and furs, his nose just grazing hers, Hermia willed his lips to touch her own. Such was their closeness, with every breath hot air was exchanged between the two, swallowing heavily Robb gently grazed Mia's bottom lip with his thumb. He so wanted to posses her mouth; push her against the wall as he felt every contour of her body.

It seemed like they stood there for hours, each of them only just breathing as with every brush of exposed skin they came closer still. Trembling with a mixture of fear and desire Mia gently pushed Robb's fallen locks from out of his face, biting back the urge to run in the other direction, afraid of what might come if she gave in to the man standing in front of her.

"We should probably keep moving," Mia suggested softly.

Nodding tightly Robb released his grip; Hermia sprang backwards as if she had been burnt. Straightening out her robes the young woman took a few tentative steps forward. To her pleasure she felt Stark's shoulder brush up against her, their little fingers just skimming past each other.

With his touch Mia's eyes fluttered shut, her breath catching in her throat. The smallest of sensations seemed to multiply within her body, it was small wonder her Septa had sheltered her from the opposite sex, if this was to be her reaction. Thoughts of chastity and honour were dangerously close to being discarded the longer she spent in Robb's company. She knew that it would bring shame on her house, her reputation sullied and no man would want her.

"I don't know if this is such a good idea," Hermia voiced her concerns as she led the Northerner up a winding stair.

"Too late now don't you think?" Robb rejoined before trying to lighten the mood. "I could claim you seduced me, I was helpless to your feminine wiles."

"I wouldn't know the first place to start when it comes to the art of seduction." Hermia shot back, her eyes firmly glued to hallway ahead.

"Oh I don't know, you seem to be doing quite well as it is," Robb teased.

"My Lord!" Mia exclaimed, spinning round to confront the laughing Lord Stark. "Such words have ruined many a better woman before me."

Robb coughed, clearing his throat, "Hardly better my Lady. I am sure half those rumours were true."

"In King's Landing it hardly matters if its true or not," Hermia commented archly.

"You don't like it here do you?" Robb gently pressed.

"I dream of the North," Mia muttered distractedly as she tried to remember which way to turn.

"The North." Robb stated quietly, wondering whether she meant Winterfell, and by extension, him.

"Everything is north of here," Hermia covered quickly, hoping the lord would not see the flush to her cheeks.

"You are right in that regard," Robb conceded. "You might not like the North you know."

"Too cold?" Hermia countered, a quirk to her mouth.

"Something like that," the Northerner smirked. Glancing at Mia's mouth he admired the curve of her lips; he was fast coming to love her smile.

"You forget your mother was from the Riverlands and she did well enough."

"My mother's room is unbearably hot, Winterfell sits on hot springs and water runs against the stone of the keep like life blood. If it didn't, we would probably all freeze, my mother first. We might make a Stark out of you yet though."

Hermia blinked, some women would have counted that as a proposal.

Robb blushed, "As in, your ability to deal with the cold, not your name. Well..."

"We're here." Herma suddenly announced, glad that she did not have to deal with the fallout of Robb's last statement.

Pushing open the heavy door was surprised to see several figures milling about her solar.

"Ah, my Lady Aylwin, so glad you brought Lord Stark." The seamless lie passed from Ser Tomas' lips as he pulled the door wider still.

Hermia wobbled on her feet, quickly sitting down she resisted the urge to throw up. Several faces stared at her keenly, non-more so than Robb's.

_Soldiers' lives were won and lost on the battlefield, but the lives of the highborn of Westeros were never left to play out in such a fashion, not if it could be helped. The woman sighed softly, her life had been planned from her first steps – unknown faces sitting round large tables pushing the pawns._

* * *

_****_**A/N: **Sorry the chapter's a little bit shorter than the last! Erm, I realise that there's quite a bit of bodice ripper style writing going on here, but they are in their late teens/early 20s. Robb's 15 in the books when it all kicks off, thankfully they chose to age him up to bit to a least 18 (despite 26 year old Richard Madden looking like he's been shaving for years.) What I mean to say is, at that age, if you fancy someone this kind of stuff is always going to come up :P Anyway, please let me know what you think :)


	6. Confluence

"**Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." – Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy **

_The morning was cold, the sun hung low in the sky and the old woman lay in her bed. She rarely slept for more than five hours, but upon each waking the world crushed her. The sadness that lifted momentarily in slumber bore down upon her once more. _

Four fingers drummed against varnished mahogany, the sound echoed and amplified in Mia's head, as if war drums were pounding. The fingers drummed again, and again, the sound repeating over and over, it was all she could do not to reach out and throttle the new Lord Frey.

The Late Lord Frey had passed on, and finally left his eldest son to rule their house. It seemed, that in acquiring his father's seat and the land that went with it, he had inherited his father's prickly disposition.

"Why ought I listen to you, Ser?" Lord Frey spat, his eyes narrowed in contempt towards Tomas, "Once again, the Tullys and Starks have proven their disregard for my house. Why not a Frey marry into a grand house?"

"Mind your tongue Frey," Mia's cousin suddenly interjected. "Are you to suggest my house is not good enough for your sister?"

Sucking in his breath, Frey looked towards Lord Ellwood, "Not at all my Lord, I was merely suggesting that houses Stark and Tully..."

"I would not hear you sully their name either," Ellwood snapped. "I fought beside both houses and Robb Stark is an honourable man. I look for a wife, whereas Lord Stark does not. I am not from the North and would not be taking your sister so far away from you. My lands might not be as great, but lest I remind you, it is fertile land. I hope Lord Stark does not take offence when I say I would undoubtedly match his income. Roslin would want for nothing.

"Your sister barely knows Robb Stark, we can hardly claim I would be tearing two lovers a sunder. In short, Lord Frey, most in this room think I would provide a good match to the girl, it is only you who object on the most needless of grounds. Wounded pride. "

Frey took a delicate sip of wine, "You would not be tearing two lovers a sunder, but would I be if I refused the match between my sister and yourself Lord Ellwood?"

Placing the heavy goblet onto the great table in front of him Frey sent a sidelong glance at Hermia. Suddenly the drumming stopped. It was a heavy silence that descended on the room.

"_Ser_," Lord Ellwood jumped to his feet, his hand gripping the pommel to his great sword. "Would you insult my kin, name my cousin a whore?"

"Not in so many words Lord Ellwood, but are you denying that those two have a romantic inclination." Lord Frey's face was a picture of innocence, but there was no hiding his threat.

"I can speak for myself Lord Frey, and you may ask me yourself." Robb suddenly spoke up, an undercurrent of steel to his voice as his blue eyes met Lord Frey's brown, his anger and intent perfectly clear.

"Then I ask you Lord Stark, do you attempt to break your agreement with my father so you can marry Lady Aylwin?"

Robb 's jaw clenched, shutting his eyes momentarily, before he finally spoke. "Yes."

The one syllable fell from his lips, and hung in the air. A ringing statement of Robb's intent, Lord Frey bit back his surprise.

Hermia muffled the gasp that had unwillingly pushed it was way from her throat before hastily downing a large quantity of wine. Brushing at her skirts she barely had the will to look up at the assembled company. Her cheeks were flaming and her breath coming in short bursts.

Robb Stark would break his oaths for her.

She had spent months willing herself to believe that it was because he was unhappy with the prospect of marrying a girl he barely knew. But faced with the glaring admission she was forced to face the truth.

Frey smiled, "Alas, I cannot go back on my father's agreement."

Biting her lip Hermia tried to marshal her thoughts, looking directly at Lord Frey she cleared her throat.

"My Lord, are you suggesting that you would nullify your father's agreement if you could?"

"Yes," Frey arranged his face to suggest a feeling of faint bemusement. "I am a fair man, but I must do as duty commands."

"The rules of Westeros are clear my lord, you are not judged for your fathers crimes, nor held accountable for his debts. Surely you are free to release the Stark's from their obligations to your _late _lord father.

"Besides, there are whispering in Court that you are half the man your father ever was, I would not like to see you add fuel to your pyre. But I am sure the Queen would make a fair and just ruling on the matter if we were to bring it before her, as I am sure would be the next step if you were to keep to the decision you just made."

Hermia's face was impassive, pulling on every reserve not to back down, she had been taught to never show emotion and her lessons were not forgotten. More often than not, her blushes gave her away, but she was commanded to play the game, and play she would. An uneasy feeling swam in her stomach, regardless of whoever sat on the Iron Throne; plays for power still dominated the lives of the highborn.

Throwing a glance towards Robb she was relived to see that he was also keeping his emotions in check. Only the slight flickering of a nerve over his left temple suggested that anything was amiss.

Lord Frey smiled carnivorously, "Well played my Lady." Inclining his head ever so slightly he rose to his feet.

"I would gladly see Lord Ellwood married to my sister."

"And what of Arya?" Lady Catelyn suddenly spoke up; she had remained silent throughout the entire exchange. But with one child's freedom secured she was eager for the same for her youngest girl.

At the mention of Arya's name Lord Frey's face clouded.

"She wont do," his voice was harsh, acerbic. "The girl is wild, hardly appropriate for my brother. And then there are those rumours, of her running about with Baratheon's bastard."

Catelyn let loose a shuddering sigh of relief, for once thankful of her daughter's unruliness.

"Sansa however," Lord Frey suddenly added. "She would be a worthy bride."

"Perhaps," Ser Tomas interrupted. "We ought to let the two meet before we arrange anything."

"I agree," Robb nodded, as he voiced his approval.

"Very well," Frey acquiesced. "If the two get along we shall make the appropriate arrangements."

Lady Stark sat back in her chair, a virtually imperceptible nod of thanks passing between her and Ser Tomas.

"If that is all my Lords and Lady," Hermia quickly spoke up; rising slowly she looked upon the various bodies in the room, her eyes heavy.  
"I wish to retire for the evening."

"Of course Hermia, till the morrow." Lord Ellwood muttered graciously as he roughly brushed his lips against Mia's cheek. He had never been one for observing courtly courtesies, but he was kind enough.

"Lady Aylwin," Frey muttered, brusquely jerking his head as he swept from the room.

Next came Catelyn, her eyes watery as she pressed her mouth against Hermia's soft skin, her hands squeezing firmly on the younger woman's shoulders.

As Cat's fingers released their grip on Mia, the red head smiled and gave a brief nod before stepping back a few paces.

"Good night my Lady," Ser Tomas offered finally, before bowing deeply and escorting Lady Stark from the room.

Just as there had been six of them – there were now two. Alone in the rapidly darkening room Hermia had a sudden urge to fall into Robb's arms. She had played Lord Frey for all he was worth and she felt exhausted because of it. Hermia knew there were those who loved secrets and intrigue, but they were whisperers. Not something she aspired to, but it would appear if she were to leave King's Landing with all that she hoped for, she would be forced to delve into the court's murky depths.

And she hated it.

Robb's broad shoulders were tense, his back partially to Hermia, he slowly turned to face her.

"I..." Robb's voice caught in his throat, he had spoken with such conviction earlier, but now the words were refusing to form. His thoughts that had been voiced with such clarity before were blurring.

He was the young boy that had played at fighting in Winterfell's bailey, and to all intents and purposes, he was that wet eared boy. He might have fought a war, he might bear the scars to prove it, but in the ways of the heart? He was young and foolish. Maester Luwin had neglected to teach him anything about women beyond his duty to marry and produce an heir. Theon had seemed to think women were either his mother, or whores. And Jon? Well Jon, had taken the black.

"Robb, you don't have to say anything... Not tonight," Hermia supplied.

"I want to..." Robb replied earnestly.

Reaching out, his fingers just stopped short of grazing her hand. Bridging the gap, Hermia joined their hands together, savouring the feel of his skin against hers. The fleeting contact sent shudders through her body, something fluttered in her belly and she stepped closer to him still.

"My Lord, I bid you goodnight."

Her chest heaving behind her tightly laced dressed Hermia willed him to bend down and end the nervous dance that the two had entered into.

"I'll see you in the morning," Robb promised. Unlatching his hand he stepped backwards before offering a bow. As he straightened his back his eyes caught hers, it was almost carnal, the desire that pulsated from them.

Hermia could almost feel her body lurching forward of its own accord, and she wanted it to. Instead she gripped the back of a nearby chair. The drums had returned, only this time it was her heart. Begging for release as it pounded against her ribcage. An overwhelming sense of _something_ was beginning to bubble in Hermia's belly.

Robb would marry her, not because he was bid but because he _liked _her. It was a heady feeling, she was a woman grown but here she stood regressing to a young girl, with tales of princes and knights filling her head with notions of romance.

"Why did you say yes?" Hermia found the words rushing from her mouth before she was aware she had even thought them.

"Because I couldn't lie to him," Robb answered simply.

"Your honour?" Hermia rejoined, her hands still grasping at the chair, her knuckles white.

"Yours," the Northerner scratched the back of his neck. "I wouldn't want to see it questioned."

"I don't need protecting Lord Stark," Hermia shot back, unsure why anger lanced through her.

"I promised I would," Robb whispered.

"And I asked you not to," Mia finally released the chair so she could run a hand through her hair. Thoughts of Nathanial dying rushed to the fore, those who protected her always seemed to leave.

"Things are different now..." Robb stumbled, yet his nerve did not falter. "If you would be my wife I would look after you, and keep you safe. I would cut down those who sought to hurt you... If only you would let me."

Striding forward Robb cupped Mia's face between his hands, his eyes meeting hers and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her.

"I wouldn't keep you in a cage Mia, I can promise you that."

"I don't doubt your intentions Robb," gently clasping his right hand with her left Hermia breathed softly. "But you must let me protect you too, I wont have you dying so I might live, that wouldn't leave me with much of a life at all."

"I promise," Robb vowed.

_The world seemed to be full of bitter ironies, the old woman though, her white hair whipping about her as she leaned out from the open window._

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry the update took me so long, considering the space of time between all the others! Anyway, hope this chapter was worth the wait and I would, as per usual, appreciate any feedback. So if you feel the need, just pop it in a review. So, hope your enjoyed it!


	7. The Sound of Silence

**"Cecilia wondered, as she sometimes did when she met a man for the first time, if this was the one she was going to marry, and whether it was this particular moment she would remember for the rest of her life - with gratitude, or profound and particular regret."**

- Atonement, Ian McEwan

* * *

_The keep was always warm, even in the dead of winter. The hot springs that the castle sat upon kept the occupants constantly warm. The old woman was grateful that the Builder had chosen well in deciding where to lay his foundations._

_The room might have been warm enough, but her thoughts often drifted to colder times, to times when the dead walked and Westeros was wrapped tightly in winter's grasp. Times long gone, but forever in her thoughts. _

* * *

The air was strangely crisp; a chill had fallen upon the Red Keep, the sun hung low in the sky despite it being near midday.

Winter had come.

Hermia pulled her mantle further round her shoulders, savouring the feel of the fabric against her fingers. She had yet to see the Young Wolf and she was oddly restless. In an effort to calm her nerves and let her mind turn over the various events that had come to pass, Hermia walked towards the Godswood.

Like many of the Houses based below the Neck, her family had kept the new gods; her parents had married in sight of the Seven. But Hermia did not wish to talk to a Septon. Her feelings were not so easily deciphered so she could kneel before the Mother, Smith or Warrior. Neither the Crone nor the Maid could offer her comfort. Her own father was dead and she had no interest in speaking to another. Only the Stranger had some hold over her. But even that shrouded entity was not enough. She wanted to be closer to the gods, she wanted to feel their power surround her. With the Godswood, there was no threat of her answers being lost in translation.

The old gods were wild and ancient; the Heart trees that stood at the centre of every Godswood were more often than not strange, and at times frightening. But there was wisdom there, the ages clearly worn across the carved faces. And what else were gods supposed to be like?

Dropping to her knees Hermia looked up at the ancient Weirwood, her own family had kept a Godswood, it was smaller than it had once been. The trees had been cut back and the land reclaimed, her family turning their back on the old ways. And so had Hermia. Except she had always found solace amongst the dark trees, maybe it was being close to something so old. Maybe it was the carved face; so angry and sad, full of knowledge that she could only just skim the surface of.

The feel of the cracked bark against her fingers tips brought Hermia back to King's Landing. Her green eyes searched out the eyes of the Heart tree; dark red sap dripping across the tree's surface gave the illusion of tears, bloody tears. And once more she was transported, away from the capital and to her youth.

Her childhood fear of the aged Weirwoods stemmed from the black, bleeding eyes. Her brother Nathaniel had taken her out into the Godswood on many a dark night, only a small torch between them, the siblings had ventured to the very centre of the wooded copse. It was there that shadows danced and leapt, that eyes took a life of their own and Hermia could have sworn she truly did look into the heart of something.

Running her fingers along the well-caked trickle of sap Hermia shifted where she sat. There was no point looking towards her childhood, her life had been far less complicated then. Despite all the teachings she had received, she didn't think she was any more prepared for the life that awaited her.

Amongst the trees she didn't feel compelled to pray, not like when she had visited the Sept. In the church there was nothing to do but pray. Here she could sit, the red leaves carpeting the floor, the city far away from her and her heart beating a steady rhythm against her chest

In the quiet she tried to listen to it.

Screwing her eyes shut Hermia muffled a scream of frustration, her thoughts were still clouded. She was no closer to understanding what she felt. Her actions had caused Robb to break his sworn words, a part of her wanted to jump up and cry out in elation. She was a young woman and she wanted love, she wanted the great stories and poems to be made flesh. But her thoughts were so often darkened when duty and obligation reared their heads. It was then that an overwhelming sense of guilt surged through her, Robb was an oath breaker. And it didn't matter that there was a convenient alternative, not when his enemies had a chance to question his honour and she might be branded a whore.

But once again the tide changed, Robb had been spared from a marriage he had no desire to entire into, her cousin was given a match he had hoped for, seeing as love played so very low on his agenda. Hermia sighed, once more fidgeting with her stole, the dark blue fabric drifting from her shoulder, exposing her skin to the cold air.

And it was then, when she least expected it, that the image of Nathaniel drifted into her minds eye. It was he who would have her marry a young wolf. Her brother had always seemed to understand her better than she could.

A lone tear drifted down her cheek, the droplet met her lips and the salt touched her tongue. Her brother had voiced her own thoughts before she had halfway formed them. Her brother had protected her. Her brother...

"They always frightened me as a boy."

Hermia sat up, startled, his soft voice travelled across the still air and for a moment her thoughts were ripped from her head. At the sight of him she was rewarded with such an overwhelming sense of clarity that she could just about breathe. It might not be for love, it might not be entirely honourable. But it was right.

Instead of running towards him and entwining her fingers in his Tully hair, she kept her seat, her eyes meeting his.

"My brother did his best to make the dead walk when we went into our Godswood."

"What do you mean?" Robb questioned softly as he sat on the grass beside her.

"A dark night, a torch and a few shadow puppets are a boy's best friend when he wants to scare his younger sister." Hermia answered, pulling up a tuft of grass as she did so.

"Did it work?" Robb prodded, his shoulder pushing against hers.

"I wasn't afraid of ghosts, the gods maybe." Hermia offered a small smile, "Its like we walk closer to something untamed when we're amongst the Weirwoods. I don't quite understand it."

"Are we supposed to though?" Robb posited, his hand drifting over hers. His hand was warm; hers cold and the touch sent her head reeling.

"No," Hermia whispered.

Robb was closer to her than Hermia had banked on, in the quiet she listened. Hoping she'd hear something. Gently removing her hand from under Robb's hand she placed it against his chest, over the proud direwolf of House Stark.

The beat of his heart was steady and the wood was quiet. She could almost hear it. The answers that were dancing tantalisingly in front of her, half shrouded in darkness.

"I think the Queen has learnt of our meeting last night," Robb offered the piece of information freely, his blue eyes slightly clouded. He shared his father's annoyance for court intrigue.

"Are you certain?" Hermia replied, the silence was fast disappearing and she still didn't have an answer.

"I've been summoned to an audience with her later this afternoon," Robb sighed. "She might wish to talk of the Wall though, and the White Walkers."

"Surely the Night's Watch?"

"They're not enough..." Robb returned bitterly. "My brother was sent to a spent force, they do not have enough men, nor resources."

"And you think the Queen will help?"

"If King's Landing will not, then Winterfell will answer the call." Robb said stoutly, his expression resolved.

"Another war?" Hermia questioned, her words not entirely directed towards Robb.

"It might come to that," Robb answered. Shaking his head as if to dispel dark thoughts, the Lord of Winterfell looked towards his chest. "Are you to keep your hand there all day my lady? I fear you may require use of it."

Hermia felt the colour rise in her cheeks, trying to snatch the offending appendage back she found that Robb's hand held her fingers against his doublet.

"I thought you said I might need it?" Hermia countered, her eyebrow raised in challenge.

Robb's eyes were hooded, his voice thick as he replied. "I have grown selfish in my age, I wish to keep what its attached too."

Gently tugging at Hermia's hand he pulled them both up into a standing position,

"You would keep me?" Hermia questioned teasingly.

"I would marry you, if you would have me." Robb answered simply.

The silence fell upon the Godswood once more, heavy and loaded with unspoken words. But strangely Hermia had all her answers.

Hardly thinking her actions through, Hermia pulled Robb towards her, her hands gripping tightly at the fabric of his doublet. Their eyes met and a tumultuous wave of emotions hit her full in the face. His breath caressed her skin, his mouth just skimming hers. Finally their lips met and she heard her heart beat against her chest. She felt his warm body against her own and a promise for the future was exchanged.

_She could still feel it, the scorching, burning sensation. The heat that was only shared between two people, two people against the oncoming cold._

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry this baby is a little short, I just wanted to put something up. This story will pick up, marriages and what not. In case you haven't picked up on it, I'm going to run with the idea of the Wights and throw in some action. I'm itching to write in some sword play. _  
_

Hope you enjoyed this, and please feel free to let me know what you think!


	8. In Sight of the Seven

"**I don't ask myself what did I live for, said Carlene strongly. That is a man's question. I ask whom did I live for. "**  
- On Beauty, Zadie Smith

* * *

_Marriages were supposed to be a happy occasion, a meeting of two people in the eyes of the gods. But more often than not, those married were the least happy, their union provided joy for others. A piece of land, a large purse or the end to blood shed._

_Matches were rarely for love, if you were lucky you found it. The others less fortunate, learnt to make do, to appreciate it could have been worse. _

_Old fingers griped a roughly hewn door, she had been twice blessed, entirely lucky and made wonderfully whole. _

The girl could feel the weight of several layers of fabric hanging from her body, with every step her legs met with resistance. The soft, finely spun silk fell lightly to the floor, her wide sleeves tumbling down to her feet. A long train of fabric dragged through the leaves behind her, as her skirts billowed about her in the cold breeze.

Her long hair had been pulled from off her shoulders, leaving the skin of her arms bare. Several flowers and vines interwove with the thick, intricate plaits that were wound round the back of her head and over her brow.

She was dressed perfectly, but her heart was heavy. Her soon to be husband walked abreast of her, his longs strides matching her shorter ones.

For a moment she wanted to scream and rage, before she had simply cried, and tomorrow she would no doubt want to beat a her fists against her father's tomb.

Her father had promised her to one man, and now, she was to be given to another. She supposed it didn't make much of a difference, she had only briefly met Robb Stark, a battlefield their place of encounter. The man beside her was taller, stronger and with a face that was almost painfully beautiful. By all accounts she had traded up, but there was still a bitter taste in her mouth.

It didn't matter that Lord Ellwood was just a great warrior as the Warden of the North, nor did it matter that she would be kept in silk dresses. All that mattered was that she had a startling lack of control over her life. She supposed the gods had a way of seeing their plans reach fruition. But, she thought, as she stepped through the great archway into the Sept, this was not the work of the gods. This was work of men, men who would see her married to one but not another.

Glancing to her right she saw her half brother with his wife, sat on one of the pews, her gut tightened painfully. It was he who made the choice, and her – the Lady Aylwin – or Lady Stark soon enough. Why that girl had more control over her own destiny she did not know, but Roslin Frey was jealous enough.

* * *

Soon the couple reached the Septon, and Hermia spared Roslin a glance, the girl was lovely, but her skin was taught and pale. Most probably a combination of lack of sleep and the fact that she was now faced with the man she was to bed and, gods giving, spend the rest of her life with.

Hermia bit her lip, her stomach churning, it was only chance that had spared her from the same fate as Roslin. She would not have married her cousin, no, but she would have had faced many a suitor, and eventually a match would have been made and a husband had. A sense of guilt swelled within her, why had she not given a thought to Roslin as she negotiated for her terms. She too had been guilty of treating another human being as chattel.

Playing with the pendant at her neck Hermia added her voice to the congregation around her; the hymn soon filled the echoing room, their song drifting up to the rafters. Once they were done, prayers were rained over them, the words doing little to rouse Hermia's spirits.

It was then that Roslin and Wilfred said their vows, invoking thoughts of all the Seven. Promises to keep each other, promises to remain true. Hermia shifted uncomfortably, how true were those words when send about someone you half knew by sight? Let alone have any sort of deeper connection with.

The ribbon still wrapped around both their hands, Lord and Lady Ellwood turned to face those assembled. A faint pink glow had rushed to Roslin's cheeks, perhaps the girl was warming to the prospect Hermia mused. It was all she could hope for, she wished that Roslin would grow big with child and find a certain kind of happiness. Her cousin, after all, was a good and upright man.

* * *

The bodhran beat a fast rhythm as a few of the younger guests braved a dance, Mia's foot tapped against the rushes covering the cold floor. Picking at the lamprey pie that had been placed before her, Hermia's hand drifted over her wine contemplatively. Deciding against it she continued to eat the delicacies that were put in front of her, as usual the choicest of portions were being presented to the couple sat on the dais.

A terrible sigh troubled Hermia enough to look to one of her dining companions, Arya Stark breathed into her goblet as she took an almighty sip of summer wine. The young girl looked bored to tears, and Hermia did not blame her, men on the steady path to drunkenness surrounded them, several serving wenches had already fallen prey to Lord Karstark's bawdiness.

"Are you troubled my Lady?" Hermia questioned, as she leaned in towards the girl. Stories of this young noblewoman had circulated at court; some said she was half direwolf, stubborn and untameable, with the death of many men on her hands. Others said she had lain with one of Robert Baratheon's bastard children and was thus ruined for life. Hermia just thought her uncomfortable, stuck in her own skin, or perhaps it was simply the dress.

"Mother made me wear this ridiculous thing," Arya hissed as she tugged at the collar. "Sansa begged me come in her place with Robb, she doesn't want to meet Waldon or is it Walder? Either way, the Frey boy she might have to marry. I suppose it was the least I could do, considering _I _was supposed to marry him."

"A small sacrifice then?" Hermia questioned.

"Just," Arya replied. "You're a proper lady, no one made you wear that thing?"

Hermia glanced down at her gown; it was one of her favoured dresses, before quickly hiding a smile. "I suppose not, but I could hardly turn up in mail, or worse, naked?"

"Brienne of Tarth would have, worn mail I mean. And I don't suppose my brother would have minded the other option." Arya commented slyly, her brown eyes trying to catch Mia's.

Hermia spat a large amount of wine back into her cup, "I would have caused quite the scene."

"No one would have stopped you, you don't have a husband and you own your own lands." Arya muttered, as she speared a particular succulent piece of lamb on her knife.

"Not for much longer," Hermia countered.

"Oh I forgot... Why would you do that?" Arya suddenly demanded, rounding on Hermia, her eyes narrowed. "You could have lived how you wanted, with no one to tell you what to do."

"I wanted what was best for my cousin, and perhaps your brother."

"What about you?" Arya prodded, her tone of voice suggesting that she thought Hermia an idiot.

"For me as well, but for a while I pretended like I was doing it for others. I pretended that I was being selfless." Hermia sat further back in her chair, her cup of wine quickly filled as a serving girl glided past.

"Why?" Arya inquired, her voice hard with an eagerness for answers.

"Because otherwise I would have to question my honour, and I would be found wanting." Hermia whispered, her eyes staring into her wine as she attempted to pull her features into a smile.

"What's honour compared to happiness?" Arya rejoined, her voice too heavy for one so young.

"And what's happiness to you?"

"Freedom," came Arya's resounding reply.

"You think I'm stupid don't you?" Hermia questioned lightly, her shoulder nudging Arya's.

"I did at first," Arya nodded her head, unashamed to admit her opinion. "But maybe, this way you're free to follow your heart?"

The girl's face creased into a frown at the thought, the notions of heroes and love were not for her.

"No young knight would tempt you to contemplate the idea of loving someone?" Hermia teased gently.

Arya's eyes drifted away momentarily as if she had forgotten she was in the company of another. "Not a knight, and I'm not against loving people, I just don't think that its all there is to hope for."

Hermia nodded softly, perhaps she had been too short-sighted, but she had made her bed, now all she had to do was lie in it.

As if noticing her companion's sudden melancholy Arya spoke up, "Robb's not like other lords you know."

"I..." Hermia stuttered, unsure of where the girl had gained such insight. But then she chastised herself for asking such a ridiculous question; it was no secret of what the Stark girl had gone through. The war for the Seven Kingdoms had been bloody, pulling nearly every soul inhabiting Westeros into it.

"Robb wouldn't stop you from doing things. Well, if you were his wife he'd probably stop you from walking around naked, only he's allowed to see it after all." Arya smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"We should be thankful that I don't have a penchant for baring myself in public."

"No," Arya giggled. Sobering quickly she fixed Hermia with a steady gaze, "I wouldn't mind if you were my sister. You'd be better than Sansa at least."

Hermia frowned, "I hope I wouldn't disappoint you, but Sansa has seen a lot has she not?"

"We all have," Arya shot back. "But we don't spend half our time ignoring it happened and the other half in tears, holding it over anyone who's remotely unkind to you."

Hermia found herself unsure of what to say, "She's your blood..."

"I know, and I do love her." Arya took another bite of her food, "But I love other people more..."

Hermia was itching to ask the question, utter a name that had been whispered behind covered mouths throughout court. A name that undoubtedly followed Arya's whenever she was brought up in conversation.

The young girl looked at her shrewdly, as if reading her very thoughts. "You can ask me about him you know."

"Its not my place," Hermia muttered, sipping more of her wine.

"No," Arya conceded. "You can always ask, but there's no guarantee that I'd tell you."

Sending Hermia a roguish wink, Arya squeezed the older woman's hand. A friendship of sorts had been formed, and for that Hermia was grateful.

* * *

Walking across the virtually deserted bailey Hermia huddled into her cloak, the cold winds were whipping about her and she was unsure why she was putting herself through such an ordeal when a warm brazier and bed awaited her.

Suddenly aware that she was not alone, Hermia didn't need to look to realise that she was not met with human company. Rough fur brushed against her fingertips, too big to be one of the dogs from the kennels, Hermia slid her gaze down. Her breath caught in her throat, she knew that the animal would most likely not hurt her, but to be faced with a creature that could quite easily tear out her throat she was somewhat perturbed.

"Greywind, to me." Robb's voice called out a sharply.

The direwolf turned, before padding softly towards Robb, bending down to scratch the wolf between the ears, the Lord of Winterfell glanced up to meet Hermia's stare. Removing his hand for the direwolf's head, Lord Stark walked in Hermia's direction as Greywind loping beside him.

"I saw you speaking to Arya earlier..." Robb's voice tailed off. "She has the habit of saying exactly what's on her mind, regardless of the situation."

"Yes," Hermia nodded. "A quality I wish I had at times."

Robb barked out a laugh, at the noise Greywind's ears perked upright. "I don't think you have an issue with saying what's on your mind."

Hermia smiled coyly, "Perhaps not."

Robb suddenly grasped Hermia's hand and pulled her into his chest, his blue eyes staring intently into hers as shadows played across Hermia's face in the guttering light.

"When we leave for Winterfell, I would like you to come with us." Robb pressed his forehead against Hermia's, his hot breath visible in the cold night air.

"I have been asked to King's Landing," Hermia started. "The Queen thought it best if I were to leave my cousin with soul reign of the house once he was married. But I don't think she would mind if I were to accompany you north."

"I warn you, it's wilder than the last time you saw it." Robb's thumb brushed against Hermia's cheek. "Colder too."

"Winterfell sits on a hot spring doesn't it? I'm sure it would keep me warm enough." Hermia replied, a rebel smile tugging at her lips.

"I could always help," Robb whispered, his mouth hovering over Mia's.

The colour rose in her cheeks, "I don't think it would be proper..."

"Proper enough if we're married."

"Aye my Lord," Hermia nodded, smiling.

_She had found freedom in the arms of another and warmth too. A warmth that had almost seemed like it could stand the test of the cold._

* * *

**A/N: **This one's a bit longer than the last! Anyway, hope you liked this and please let me know what you think! _  
_


	9. Of A Night

**"I am not always good and noble. I am the hero of this story, but I have my off moments."**  
**― P.G. Wodehouse, _Love Among the Chickens_**

* * *

_It had been a long while since the old woman had slept in her marriage bed, longer still the bed she had used as a maid. But without fail, she still missed the spectral figure that used to sleep beside her._

_Children had filled her with joy, but there was always a kiss they couldn't quite reach at the corner of her mouth, a place within her heart that they could never quite fill._

Hermia reflexively wrapped her left arm across her chest. Trying to find some sort of protection from Robb's gaze. Her own eyes were darting about the room – from the fire, to the bed, to the windows and door, and then back to the bed. But her green eyes never reached Robb's. She couldn't bring herself to, not when her eyes were weighted down with such great expectations and the fear of the unknown.

The grey and white cloak that Robb had draped across Hermia's shoulders still hung there, the virgin's mantel having been discarded in the Sept, Robb having replaced it with one bearing the direwolf, and with it, he gave her his protection. To her relief, custom had only been followed so far after the wedding feast. Mia had still been led up to the bedchamber by a large group of men, but she was allowed to keep her clothes. Rather than having them striped of her to be delivered to the wedding bed ready for her lord husband, she had been bundled into the chamber, cloak and all.

Unfortunately, several members of the Stark court remained on the other side of the bedchamber door, to bear testament that marriage was in fact consummated.

"You can't have plucked her already my Lord? Or is the Young Wolf suffering from performance anxiety?" A bawdy voiced called out, the consumption of wine very much evident in his tone.

With those words, the newly married couple burst into awkward laughter, their cheeks turning a bright red. With the violent expulsion of air Hermia felt somewhat relieved, she was no longer completely on edge. Dropping her arm she stepped hesitantly towards Robb, her eyes finally meeting his.

"I..."

"Maybe you should take the cloak off?" Robb quickly supplied before gesturing to the fire, "It's warm."

"If my Lord wishes it." Hermia replied as her head bowed slightly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Mia," Robb spoke sharply as his fingers grasped her chin and raised her face to look at his. "I don't see why now we should adopt such formalities. I told you I wouldn't keep you in a cage, you can keep as much or as little clothing on as you like."

"As little?" Mia questioned, her eyebrow quirking. Her good spirits were returning to her with the simplest of touches.

A burning heat, that bore no relation to the fire or the amount of clothes she wore, coursed through her body. Goose pimples covered her skin as she shivered in sweet anticipation.

"I'm not going to lie, my Lady." Robb answered, his voice warm and teasing. "I would have you wear as little as possible."

Reaching for the silver direwolf clasp, Hermia released the heavy fabric from her service and it fell to the floor. The scented rushes muffling the noise, for a moment she had never felt so exposed. There she stood in a white gown, she was no longer a girl, but a woman grown and married to the Lord of Winterfell. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her mouth dry as her breathing grew faster.

Robb's blue eyes had, only moments earlier, been full of mirth and humour, but now something darker lurked there, something wholly human and male. His own apprehension was evident but with it danced desire. With it his need for Hermia burned true, he took a small step towards her. As the gap closed between them, the brief moment of respite Hermia had gained from the pounding nerves was lost. Her stomach clenched, her palms clammy as she waited for the inevitable.

As a girl she had dreamed of her wedding night, the face of her bridegroom had always been hidden but here he was in sharp relief. The magic she had often thought would be present had yet to surface. All she felt was fear and an undercurrent of something she had yet to name.

It wasn't just a knight she married, but a lord. She wasn't repulsed by the sight of him, nor was this the first time she had set her eyes upon him. Everything seemed conducive to providing her with the magical evening she had so often hoped for. But instead the fear cut through everything, her very bones shook with anxiety as Robb's hand brushed against her arm.

Breathing in sharply Hermia rallied her thoughts; she knew Robb would be gentle and kind. Quite suddenly his hand gripped her arm, the urgency he felt was palpable, the intensity overwhelming. Mia breathed deeply, she would try to forget her worry and nerves. She might not have magic, but she could try and enjoy it well enough.

Glancing down at Robb's hand clasped gently round her arm she felt her shoulders relax and body melt.

Even through all the layers of silk Robb's touch made her sing, but it was a song of the North. It wasn't of love and chivalry, its rhythm was darker, its tune wild and for half a second Hermia was convinced she was too afraid. But Robb's grip grew stronger and with it the beat louder, travelling along her limbs and pulling her towards him. Every step she took Mia felt the pace of her heart quicken, and soon it was beating the devil's own tattoo. The seduction almost at an end Hermia gasped as her body was pressed flush against Robb's.

Genntly spinning Hermia around Robb's fingers left her arm and instead went to her back; there he began to unlace her bodice. It was not lost on her that his digits fumbled, and for that she was grateful. He was just as nervous.

Finally Hermia's back was exposed, her pale skin begging for his nails to rake against it, for the touch of his warm hand. Very tentatively Robb's fingers danced upon her skin, Mia bit her lip. There was a dark, pulsating need pounding in her belly, she wriggled backwards, hoping that Robb's hand would gain more purchase.

Robb's fingers quickly left her back, pushing down her sleeves her shoulders were revealed, leaning down the Lord of Winterfell placed a soft kiss against her bare skin. Shuddering Mia pushed herself back further still, with every delicate kiss Robb placed across her shoulder the woman grew flushed. It was only then that she was in possession of just the right amount of desire and courage.

Pulling the rest of her dress down she stood only in her small clothes, turning to face Robb she pressed her lips full against his. To her pleasure his arms wrapped around her body, his hand grabbing the ample flesh of her rear as he attempted to pull her closer yet. The smell of fur, metal and leather against her bare skin left her feeling heady. Desire coursing her through her body, she pulled backwards before she began to fiddle with the various straps and buckles that held Robb's clothing against him.

Struggling with a somewhat unruly strap Hermia let loose a throaty giggle, "I'm not used to taking off men's clothes."

Robb merely smiled, his hands gently clasping hers before he removed them from his chest and continued the work she had started. In no time at all Robb had disposed of his cloak, quilted doublet and was now having trouble with his remaining boot.

A bubble of laughter welled and burst from Hermia's mouth before it echoed about the room. Clasping both her hands over her mouth her cheeks flushed again that night, pressing down on her mouth she tried to stop another bout of laughter from escaping. Robb made an amusing sight, hopping on one leg as he attempted to wrench the leather boot free, taking the stocking with it.

With an almighty tug Robb yanked the boot free, almost falling over in the process, thankfully the Young Wolf managed to keep his footing. Straightening out his back Robb coughed, trying to clear his throat and buy himself some time. Hermia was as naked as the day she had come screaming into the world, for a moment he wondered what she had done with her small clothes.

Shaking his thoughts the Warden of the North reached out with a hesitant hand, thankfully Hermia's finger met his and they wove tightly together. Pulling his wife towards him Robb kissed her neck softly, truth be told he didn't know what he was doing. He knew what he had to do, but getting there was the problem. Hermia gasped softly, his lips still brushing against her skin but he was fairly certain it was whatever he kept firmly between his legs that had elicited the reaction.

Grabbing Hermia by the waist Robb lifted her upwards, somehow, without being told, the girl responded by wrapping her legs around him. Walking towards the ornate bed that seemed to dominate the room, despite the large hearth ordinarily taking the fore, Robb placed her on top of the heavy sheets.

Hermia's brown hair was splayed about her face, her cheeks a glowing pink and Robb's young wife bit down on her lip. But it was her eyes that he cared about; they were alight with a mixture of desire and apprehension.

Robb did the only thing he could think of, leaning down and pressing his body against Mia's, he touched his lips against hers. The kiss was sweet and reassuring, Robb trying to put every ounce of love he felt for into it. Sadly, he didn't think it was enough, but with every day and every kiss he thought he'd be able to give her more. That eventually the apprehension would give way and he would have his wife, whole and completely his.

Leaning back ever so slightly Robb pushed Hermia's hair from out of her hot, damp skin.

"We don't have to..." His voice was soft and low, his Northern burr enveloping her.

"Bit late for that?" Hermia replied coyly, before she pressed herself up against Robb.

Somewhat taken aback the North man fixed her with a look, "Are you sure?"

"We have an audience waiting, my lord, and they expect a show."

"Do you suggest I let them in?" Robb questioned, his blue eyes sparkling with good humour.

"Not quite my lord."

Robb simply smiled, before he leant down and kissed her once more. Her pale, supple legs snaked around his hips and despite the fumbling and newness, the two found each other in the guttering firelight.

* * *

Hermia lay awake, her eyes unblinking. The fire was now down to embers and the chill from the North air was creeping into the room, pulling the covers and furs more around her body Hermia shuddered. Robb lay next to her, his chest rising and falling, as he remained dead to the world; turning to face him Mia studied his features. This was to be face that she would look upon, god willing, for the rest of her life.

His strong arms were covered with scars, some from more significant wounds than others. One fleshly, puckered welt on his forearm, looked like an injury from an arrow. Several cuts that were scattered haphazardly across his skin could have been from any number of blades.

"Are you going to stare at me all night?" Robb questioned, his eyes still closed, his words half muffled by the pillow his face was pressed against.

"I wasn't staring," Hermia responded stiffly.

"Don't deny it," Robb eyes snapped open as a grin stretched across his features before the pulled the girl towards him.

"Observing then," Mia smiled, her lips hovering over Robb's.

_The woman glanced at her side, her loose skin folded in rolls about her middle, but she could still it, the white line that stretched across her side. She had her own scars to bear._

* * *

**A/N: **Just a few things, thanks to JM Barrie for the unattainable kiss reference at the beginning of the chapter. I do think that back in the day (the medieval times) blokes wore stockings under their doublets.

Anyway, action is coming but I hope this chapter served. Please let me know what you think!


	10. Full Of Terrors

"**He had decided to live forever or die in the attempt, and his only mission each time he went up was to come down alive." Joseph Heller, Catch-22**

* * *

_When the cold had drifted across the lands, when the snows had travelled further south, when the wildlings had fled. That was when they had come. A whole race set on the destruction of the Kingdom of Andals and First Men. _

_The White Walkers journeyed amongst them again. _

Hermia counted five flickering flames bobbing their way forward; to her left there were a further two. Their bright orange light casting long shadows, keeping the forest at bay and whatever else that might have ventured south of the wall. The snows were knee deep and the forest dark; winter had fallen, the days were short and the nights long. Hermia's fur-lined hood had long been knocked off her head, the freshly falling snow melting into her hair, rivulets of ice cold water running down the back of her neck, but regardless of her discomfort, Lady Stark continued doggedly on.

Roughly shaking her head to dislodge the collected snowfall Hermia urged herself forwards, she had been advised to stay within the confines of Winterfell, to worry herself sick, to walk the parapets as if confined to the role of grieving widow. Once more her role in life had been set out for her, let the men die whilst she remained chained to the hearth and birthing bed. But she couldn't. Not now, not when good men had died and her husband was missing. Not when she still had hope, clutched tightly to her chest it acted as her shield, protecting her from the half admitted truths and the rumour of death. Robb still lived, and she would find him. The words resounded through her head, fortifying her and giving her the strength to keep going when her heart weighed heavily in her chest.

Like caring for her father's estate before, Winterfell had hardened Hermia, the cold no longer cut to the bone; instead she relished the kiss of winter and the sweet oblivion that the numbing winds brought her. She was a direwolf of House Stark and the she would bear children of the North.

"M'lady!" A sharp voice hailed her from the foot a gnarled and wizened tree. Ploughing her way through the thick blanket of snow Hermia paid little heed to the small branches whipping across her face, the warm blood that was raised barely causing her to register the pain of the small cuts that were scattered across her fair skin.

Hunched under the ancient tree, was a figure: dark, sodden robes giving no indicator of who it might be. Hermia's heart was dancing at the back of her throat, her lungs constricting painfully in her chest as the instruction to breathe failed to reach them. Falling to her knees she wrenched back the man's hood, to her relief she saw a shock of Tully hair, and a red bead. Lurching forwards Hermia clutched Robb's cold, damp face between her leather-clad hands.

"Robb?" her voice was low and insistent, a few stray tears drifted from her eyes before she roughly wiped them away with her shoulder. "Robb?" She repeated, her voice rougher, her eyes growing wild.

Slowly the Lord of Winterfell's eyes opened, they were blue. A deep, dark blue, like the sea she imagined. Mia let loose a shuddering sigh, he was still hers; he was still whole and alive. Slumping onto Hermia's shoulder Robb's hands slowly crept upwards, his stiff fingers grasping awkwardly at the fur of her mantle. His cold skin brushed against the nape of Mia's neck and the woman suppressed a shudder.

"Can you ride?" Hermia whispered, her eyes darting back to the men that had come with her.

Robb mumbled a reply, but it was lost in her cloak.

"Ser Tomas," Hermia's voice rang clear along the tree line, and no sooner had the words left her lips the knight appeared at her side. "Please help me with Lord Stark, we need to get him on one of the horse."

"Will you ride with him?" Tomas asked, as he gently moved Hermia out of the way.

Kneeling down he braced his back before grabbing Robb by the arm. Pushing the Young Wolf forward and over Ser Tomas' shoulder, Mia wondered whether the knight could bear the weight. But sure enough Tomas rose to his feet, only a small grunt betraying the effort. Thankfully one of the many men at arms had the sense to bring the horse forward, with some help Robb was hoisted into the saddle, Hermia quickly swinging up to join him.

"My lady," Tomas started, his cheeks a faint pink. "You should wait for the rest of us to mount."

"I need to go now Tomas," Hermia muttered her eyes narrowed as she observed the unmarked path back.

"Then at least wait for me."

Hermia's eyes drifted down to Robb's before travelling back to Ser Tomas, she gave a curt nod.

Without waiting for a seconds rest, Hermia was off, urging her stead forward just as the knight righted himself in the saddle of his courser. Hermia attempted to arrange her mantle so that it covered both her and Robb, veritably willing the heat of her body to warm her husband's. She knew there were more men out there, but for the time being she didn't care about them. Hermia was an incredibly selfish creature at times, and this instance was no different. Squeezing against the horse's side Mia picked up the pace, it was imperative that Robb be seen to, the cold had been known to kill many a man and the stillness that had fallen across the Lord of Winterfell did nothing to calm her nerves.

"Don't ride too far ahead my Lady, the road is treacherous at night." Ser Tomas' voice called out from behind her but Hermia barely heard the words. They drifted across the night air, but they were lost to her.

* * *

The stars could have been snuffed out, but Mia would have failed to notice. The cold was all but forgotten and the snow provided only a vague distraction for Hermia on her surefooted courser. All that mattered was Robb. The Northman sat slumped forward; his skin icy to the touch, his breathing shallow as his life drifted on a thread that Mia was so desperate to catch. Hermia knew she had to take him back to the Keep, the very thought was all consuming, a constant drone in her head, as her heartbeat kept time with the galloping of hooves. Until a pounding rhythm surrounded her, pushing her home.

The sight of Winterfell's towers floating above the tree line provided welcome relief to Lady Stark; her hair was covered with snow, her lips were numb and her hands barely able to release the reins.

It was only when she trotted through the bailey that her mind was pulled from its singular thought of returning Robb to Winterfell. Hermia barely registered the helpful hands that took Robb from the saddle, but when Ser Tomas lifted her bodily from her seat, with every intention of returning her to her bedchambers, Hermia came to.

"Ser please let me go." Hermia's voice was hard; the ice that so often covered her adopted lands was running through her veins. She was a Stark now, she spoke with the authority of the North and Tomas released her.

"Maester Fredric, bring Robb to my chambers, we need to get him warm." Hermia's robes swirled about her feet, picking up the snowflakes and sending them tumbling about playfully. As she entered the Great Hall of Winterfell she ripped the mantle from her shoulders, the fabric cutting through the air, sending a shower of snow across the rushes, only to melt in the heat of the castle.

Robb was supported between two men as they took the winding stair up the tower to Mia's chambers. The warm springs that Bran the Builder has so cleverly employed could already be felt and Hermia was grateful as the warmth returned to her cheeks.

The two guards placed Robb on the bed, stepping back awkwardly as they awaited instruction.

"You may leave us." Hermia nodded curtly, her eyes searching out theirs.

"We need to take off his clothes," Maester Fredric began as he rushed to Robb's side, wrenching off a sodden boot. Quickly following suit Hermia began work on her husband's heavy cloak before her fingers fumbled with the various ties to Robb's doublet.

"How is he?" Her voice was sharp and demanding, Hermia didn't have to look to realise it was the youngest Stark girl who addressed her.

"We don't know yet Arya," Hermia replied, taking care to keep her voice calm. "Help us take off his clothes."

Without waiting for further prompting Arya soon joined them, her small hands making light work of the various buckles that adorned her brother.

"He doesn't seem to be suffering from any injury," the Maester offered. "We best get him under the furs though."

Nodding, Hermia left Arya to it, before wrenching her dress from over her head, kicking off her heavy shod boots she pulled off the various other layers of fabric that covered her body. It was only until she stood in her small clothes that she dove under the furs with Robb.

"Quick, you too Arya." Hermia demanded, as she began to rub at Robb's chest.  
"There's no time to be shy."

"I'm not." Arya defended stoutly before she too began to remove her garments.

"I..." Maester Fredric looked towards the roaring hearth that dominated the room. "I will ask them to fetch hot water."

Despite the situation Hermia found herself giggling as she caught Arya's eye.

"You shouldn't laugh," Arya chastised, biting at her lip in attempt to keep the laughter at bay.

"I know..." Hermia replied breathlessly. "But when do you think was the last time that he?"

"We shouldn't be taking about it!" Arya giggled.

"No," Hermia agreed. Breathing in deeply the young woman looked at her sister in law. There was nothing of the Tully's in Arya, when there was so much in Robb, but Hermia still felt her breath catch in her throat. Suddenly the tears welled in her eyes, the salty droplets threatening to spill over the edge.

Arya's hand shot out under the furs, clamping down tightly on Hermia's.

"He'll be fine."

"This time..." Hermia whispered, her voice breaking.

"And the next." Arya nodded her head firmly, her voice strong.

And Hermia was humbled. For all her talk of being a direwolf of House Stark, for all her talk of embracing he North... It was nothing. Not when she was faced with Arya. The girl rode that like a Northman, the girl that fought like a Braavosi, the girl that would rather be a boy.

"What's wrong?" Arya questioned, her voice penetrating, her gaze piercing.

"I don't know if I'm strong enough..." Hermia's voice was a scant whisper. Her green eyes fixed on Robb's cheek, his skin was gradually warming, she could feel his chest rising and falling against hers.

"Strong enough for what?" Arya replied, her hand still clutching Mia's.

"Everything." Lady Stark shrugged, "I don't know if I have enough of the North in me."

"The North is your home now," Robb's voice drifted up softly.

"Don't do that again," Hermia whispered fiercely, her eyes narrowed in a mixture of anger and relief. "The North might be my home, but it would be an empty one without you."

Arya's presence was little to deter her, and with her sharply spoken words Hermia lent forward to press her lips against Robb's. They were still colder than hers but she could feel his heart. It was enough.

"I think I might return to my own chambers," Arya quickly interjected before she was faced to bear witness to something she didn't want to see. "Glad to see you again brother." Arya whispered softly against Robb's ear before she placed a chaste kiss against his cheek and slipped from the bed.

Gripping his young wife firmly between his arms Robb looked Hermia in the eye. "You shouldn't have come looking for me."

"Should I have left it to Ser Tomas?" Hermia replied archly.

"There are things that walk the woods, it isn't safe." Robb countered, his blue eyes narrowed with determination.

"Like it wasn't safe for you?"

Robb sighed grudgingly, his shoulders sagging. "Wanting you safe isn't the same as keeping you locked up."

"I know," Hermia conceded. "But come hell or high water, I will always come looking for you if you're ever lost to me again."

"Aren't these the words the gallant knight is supposed to whisper to his fair maiden?" Robb voice was light and teasing, his eyes twinkling with a mirth Mia only saw behind closed doors.

"Today you were the one that needed rescuing, it is only fair." Hermia gave a wide smile before it quickly fell from her face. "What happened?"

"Wights," Robb's voice was colder, his jaw clenched. "They'll be more of them this night."

"We must ask King's Landing for help."

"The Queen has her hands full dealing with dissatisfied lords." Robb's tone suggested he was resigned to his fate. Winterfell would be the last bastion.

"The Queen has dragons," Hermia shot back. "She has won herself a kingdom, now she must protect it."

_The night was dark and full of terrors, but there were those that spoke of the light and dragon fire._

* * *

**__A/N: **Sorry its taken me a while to update! A great number of things have ended up distracting me. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter and please let me know what you think!


	11. Nightfall

"**Why you chivalric fool - as if the way one fell down mattered.****  
****When the fall is all there is, it matters."****  
****―****James Goldman****,**_**The Lion in Winter**_

* * *

_The night had been dark. Unearthly sounds drifting through the pine trees. Three blasts of a hunting horn were heard and they had come._

Winterfell's bailey was heaving with warm bodies, all hoping that the added protection of thick walls would save them. The village that lay just beyond the castle was normally full during winter, instead all those that had come in from the holdfasts had neglected to stay. The small houses were deserted, cold air rushing along empty streets as if whispering of the imminent danger. But there was no one to bear witness to its warning, every soul had fled to the protection of the Keep.

The night air had been filled with the sound of horns echoing across the miles, a lonely, haunting noise that served as a warning. Like the solitary wolf joined by the pack in chorus, whenever the tone was close to dying out another joined it, until the air reverberated with the melancholic noise. It was dirge like. In response brave men clutched steel tightly between their hands and girded themselves for battle.

* * *

A blunted axe came flying towards her, Mia screamed. As a girl she had been taught to sew, how to courtesy and how to dance the most fashionable steps. She had not been taught swordplay; her only exposure to anything remotely violent had been tourneys and the aftermath of battle. She had not been prepared for this, her father always presuming there would be someone else there to defend her, if not her husband then her brother. But now Hermia was alone, her brother dead and her husband too far to reach her, she would have to learn how to defend herself.

There was a bitter taste in her mouth as her eyes beheld the monstrosity before her; one of two options lay open. She could either fight or run. Strangely her brain failed to instruct her body; it was sheer reflex that had her rolling to the ground, the axe skimming the air where she had stood only moments before.

Around her men lay dying, women screaming and children running, but even they were not spared. The paths were blocked, blocked by wights. Hermia whispered a prayer to the old gods and the new, hoping that they would be delivered from the cold hell they had fallen in to.

Rolling onto her front Hermia felt her cheek press up against a dead man at arms, his long sword at his side, useless. Grabbing the piece of steel, Hermia rose to her feet, the hairs on the back of her neck rose and once again her body responded. Swinging the ungainly sword round and upwards she managed to parry a blow from the axe. Staggering backwards she was thankful that she was faster than the great beast bearing down on her.

Deciding to change tack, Hermia turned on her heel and ran, but to her horror a cold hand grabbed at her shoulder. With dead fingers grasping at her flesh Hermia's stomach turned, the feelings of horror and repulsion were writhing through her body. Ready to take control. Biting her lip Hermia felt the sharp pain go some way to clearing her thoughts, wrenching her shoulder free she stumbled forward. Her gaze was fixed on one of the many towers that littered Winterfell's bailey. Two heavy oak doors would be between her and the wight, that and several flaming sconces to light the winding stair.

But the icy claws of the wight reached for her once more, and this time she felt the long nails rake along her exposed hand. Stifling a scream Hermia found herself flung to the floor, her head knocking against a loose bit of masonry that had fallen into the courtyard.

Without a seconds hesitation the wight continued its attack, his once seeing eyes were strangely dulled despite the unnatural blue hue they had adopted. Widening his mouth an unnatural roar was ripped from his throat before his arms lifted over his head. Bringing the weapon upwards in an elegant arc he paused with it hanging over his head, only for it to drop; cutting through the air with breathtaking speed as the blade made its decent.

The axe powering towards her, Hermia blinked, forcing herself to focus. Rolling to her side in attempt to avoid the blow, she felt a faint breeze kiss at her cheek as the weapon flew past. Staggering to her feet Mia felt off balance, blood pounding in her ears as she tried to move.

An unexpectedly warm hand pulled on hers and Hermia was propelled towards the tower's door. Blindly turning she saw a stream of orange flame cutting through the air.

"Get up my Lady!" Ser Tomas' strained voice was barely heard, and Hermia resisted his calls to flee.

Turning back to the wight Tomas brandished the burning branch before unsheathing his sword. With an almighty yell he lunged towards the creature, his steel blade singing as it sailed through the air. A sickening thud greeted Mia's ears as Ser Tomas cleaved the axe-wielding arm clean off the wight's body.

To his surprise Ser Tomas found the wight's remaining hand shoot out and grasp him tightly round the throat. Eyes widening in despair, the knight was bodily tossed through the air. Hermia still remained rooted to the spot, her eyes tracking the knight's flight, it was only when the man skidded across the floor, his steel armour thudding against the packed earth, that Hermia came to.

A flash of metal flitted through the air, Hermia staggered backwards, desperate to keep herself as far away from the blade as possible. Losing her footing Mia scrambled backwards, the knife still dancing in front of her.

Gasping for breath Mia felt a wave of relief hit her as a flaming torch flew towards the wight.

"Run Hermia!" Ser Tomas swung his sword once more, the blade hacking away at the wight's body. Congealed blood oozed from the several cuts and lacerations that now covered its body.

The word's to argue with knight were on the tip of her tongue before Mia thought better of it and turned to run, hating that she had to flee. Hating that she couldn't stand and fight.

Grappling with the heavy door Hermia turned the handle before pushing against the oak. Slipping into the tower and thankful of the rush of heat that hit her from the burning sconces Hermia began the ascent. Forcing her legs to move faster she veritably flew up the stone stair. Reaching the second door she once more fumbled with the weight of it before forcing her way through and dropping the bulky wooden bar on the other side.

Falling to the floor she pulled her cloak about her shoulders, desperate to keep in some of the warmth. Her back brushing up against the roughly hewn bricks she felt her eyes drift shut.

* * *

Freshly falling snow landed on Hermia's upturned cheek, the sudden shock of ice against her skin had Mia's eyes open. Lady Stark's hand fell to her side, it was damp and sticky. An unfamiliar sensation was beginning to worm its way to the surface. But for the time being her numbed senses were still playing catch up. The night's events were only half remembered, the white figures had emerged from the forest. So brilliant in their purity, so terrifying in their cruelty, they had cut down everything in their path and a few rose in their wake. Horribly deformed things, legs shattered and arms bent at angles, they were ice-cold with frostbitten skin and empty eyes. The wights were broken marionettes, the mere sight of them was enough to make your skin crawl, faced with a sight that was so clearly _wrong_, there was only one word that could conjure all Mia had felt. Abomination. Abominations controlled by creatures with no hearts.

It was then Hermia noticed the vision in her left eye was obscured by something. Hesitantly her hands crept up her face, her cold fingers left a painful trail across her unnaturally hot skin, in the chaos she had somehow lost her gloves. Mia pressed two slender digits against her eyelid. The pads of skin met with more stickiness; pulling them away she saw a dark red stain. Her hands went back to investigate further, a large gash over her brow proved to be the source of all the blood. A handful of ice pressed against her eye helped clear some of the gunk, blinking rapidly Hermia tried to focus.

Out of the corner of her eye she snatched some movement. The tree line moved.

Trying to steady her feet she realised that her fingers ran slick with something warm. Blinking several snowflakes from out of her eyes she tried to move forward, strangely her legs were taking their time responding. Reaching out for the cold stone of the balustrade Mia began to inch forward, her feet only just remembering how to respond. Each step was now accompanied by a sharp burst of pain, glancing down Mia's vision swam. There was a large gash in her side; her dress was stuck to her skin, matted down by all the blood she had lost. Noticing a large snowdrift Hermia crouched down, a hiss of pain escaping her clenched teeth. Gathering up a large fistful of snow she pressed the cold mess against her side, biting down on her lip she resisted the urge to scream. For now she was alone, a heavy silence having decided could be heard from the lofty heights of the tower.

The ring of fire that surrounded Winterfell was guttering, clearly the Others had managed to break through the first line of defence. The sounds of battle were rapidly dwindling; perhaps the invaders had begun their retreat.

Breathing deeply Hermia braced herself against the heavy door in attempt to dislodge the wooden bar. Grunting in exertion she managed to lift it and throw it to one side, yanking the door open she was glad to see that the majority of the torches were still lit. Taking the steps slowly she soon found herself at the bottom, pressing her ear against the door she tried to hear for signs of life. Maybe it was due to the thick door or that everyone lay dead, Hermia could hear nothing. Hermia tried to resist the thought that all she would be met with would be death and she turned the iron handle. The door swung on its hinges, revealing the bailey, the smell of burning flesh met her nose and several pyres dotted around the courtyard accounted for the stench.

"Mia!" His voice travelled across the still air and was like a soothing balm to her wounds. Turning wordlessly Hermia saw Robb striding towards her, his sword still unsheathed as several men came up behind him bearing torches.

Pulling his wife towards him Robb pressed her against his chest, his cheek pressed up against her hair. Mia hissed in pain, the wound at her side causing her discomfort.

"You're hurt, we need to take you back..."

Hermia shook her head, her eyes loosing focus, but she was determined to ask her question. "Where is Ser Tomas?"

"He's fine," Robb answered quickly. "He was the one who told me to come here. Now we need to get you to a maester."

Hermia found herself nodding, her eyes fluttering shut. Slumping against Robb's armoured chest she felt her knees give way.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope this chapter pleases you all! Please let me know what you think, I really would love to hear some feedback.


End file.
